


Restless Dream

by Arnica



Series: Blocking your own shot [3]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-20
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnica/pseuds/Arnica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cheyenne has been lying to him for more than a year, Jack is trying to stroll back into his life after a four month dissapearance, and Ianto has a lot of decisions to make and only a month to make them. A Blocking take on 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue are property of RTD, BBC, and all other invested persons.

“Chy, it’s a bad time.” The tail lights of the red convertible that just blew by them with the pedal to the floor and one slimy fishy hand making a rude gesture at them are fading up in the distance as they run for the SUV.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” There’s an echoing screech in the background on her side of the phone and the uniqueness of hearing things like monkeys and elephants in the background of Cheyenne’s calls has yet to lose its novelty. “I’ll be quick but I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for like two days and if I don’t talk to you _now_ Ianto, you’re going to get a hell of a shock in like twenty hours.”

“Wait, you’re coming back in town?”

“Now is not the fucking _time_ Ianto!” Owen is, rightfully, unimpressed and Ianto scowls down at the phone as he slings himself into the car, pulling out his gun.

“Cheyenne, I’m _working_. It can’t be that important, I’m sorry, but it bloody well can’t. If I don’t catch you before you leave then try again on layover, okay?” Even as he’s growling into the phone Ianto is composing his apology in the back of his mind. Everyone is just staring at him in exasperation and he knows it’s not her fault, that she thinks she’s just holding him an extra thirty seconds on a coffee break, but he’s just going to have to hang up on her and make it up later.

“Check your texts and call me when you can make time.” He’s never been quite so glad mobile phones can’t slam at the icy tone in her voice before the line goes dead.

“Can we go now Ianto or do you need to make dinner reservations and put in a call to the weed guy before we chase down the fucking alien out joyriding?” Owen has already flipped on the sirens and torn out of the parking space with a squeal of rubber on pavement.

“Go fuck yourself Owen.” He scowls down at the weapon in his hand and begins loading a fresh magazine.

“We’ve lost it.” Gwen sounds tired. They’re all tired. No one’s seen so much as a decent night off since Jack disappeared the first time, and after the day the prime minister went mad, the day Jack showed up on camera and disappeared _again_ , they’ve all started staying shifts overnights as well. He‘s eighteen hours in on a shift himself. “Oh, pull over, let’s ask her.” She’s pointing at an elderly woman staring up the road in befuddlement.

“Why the hell not? It’s not like everyone but Ianto’s girlfriend doesn’t _already_ know us on sight and by name.” Owen whips the car over into the other lane and slows to a crawl.

“You’re just _asking_ for it Harper. You really are.”

“Yeah, you and whose army?”

“Both of you shut _up_!” Gwen’s exasperated snarl morphs into a friendly and apologetic smile as she rolls her window down and leans out of it. “Excuse me, have you seen a blowfish driving a sports car?” Maybe Owen is right about what a shit job they’re doing at keeping things under control because the woman doesn’t even blink, just gives them a long hard stare and points up the road and to the right. “Thank you.” This is embarrassing. They never had to stop and ask random people on the street for directions when Jack was here.

Next to him Tosh is reading out information on the thing in the car that they’re chasing, not that Owen and Gwen can hear her, sniping the way they are about if Owen is driving too fast. Owen is right, but Ianto doesn’t feel like being on his side in anything other than a firefight right now.

“Who’s afraid of a big scary fish then?” Fantastic, now it’s turned into pig tail pulling, which means name calling isn’t far behind.

“Special weapons?”

“Not that I could see.” Fantastic, now Tosh is distracted as well.

“Do _we_ need special weapons?” Now he’s being rude to Tosh too, and because the day isn’t going downhill fast enough now they’re talking about Jack, or Owen is bitching about him anyway. At least until they see the blowfish. Then it’s all just a blur of Gwen barely holding the SUV steady and Owen hanging out the window to blow out the rear tires. Guns are drawn before hands touch handles as they slam to a stop behind the abandoned car and pile out into the cold rain.

“Where is it, where has it gone?” Gwen’s frantic and Ianto can’t blame her. They’re in the middle of a residential neighborhood full of places to hide and at least half a dozen houses who won’t have locked their door. The sound of gun fire from one of them sends his guts plunging to his feet even as he spins on the wet ground and takes off running in the direction of the sound. Owen is shouting orders as he drops to his knees next to a downed man, Tosh is telling him the fucking thing is higher than a kite, and there’s a girl--a fucking kid, Jesus Christ-- staring at him as an alien holds a gun to her head and insults them. It’s strung out, babbling and twitching with its fingers on the trigger, rubbing its face in her hair as she cries, snaking around behind her head and queering his shot every time as he threatens to shoot her.

“Dare you. Dare you! Will you, won’t you, dare you!” The girl is shaking, gasping and crying in the creature’s arms and he has to take the shot and take it now but his hands are shaking and…

For a moment he thinks he’s already shot. His finger twitches against the trigger reflexively and only luck keeps him from firing as the back of the blowfish’s head splatters thick and slimy on the curtains behind it. He stares stupidly at his gun, can’t stop himself from doing it, even as he’s registering that the shot came from behind him and was too high to be Owen, much less the girls.

“Hi kids.” He’s in motion before the smooth familiar voice begins, and he knows he’s making _that_ face, the one that makes him look like a startled kitten but he can’t blink it away. Not when Jack is there, grinning wide and familiar, like he just stepped out the door for coffee. “Did you miss me?”

In his pocket his phone chirps out Cheyenne's ring tone twice and Ianto isn't sure what she can have to say that's so important the call can't wait, but since it's taken her twenty minutes to text him he feels pretty sure it's bad news and he doesn't want it. Not when Jack is back, beaming at them like he missed them, and nothing but his rapidly dwindling sense of propriety is keeping him from punching Jack in the mouth.

That and he's pretty sure punching someone in the mouth for walking out on you more than _four bloody months ago_ counts as a domestic so big it goes beyond inappropriate and wrong and veers all the way into tacky.

Actually, maybe he will go check his messages because he needs some air. It's raining properly when he steps out into the chill midnight air and scrubs his shaking hands over his face.

Jack is back.

The overhang from the front steps is shielding him from most of the rain, but the occasional stray drop is still making it around the meager shelter, landing on his phone and blurring the words on his screen, but not enough that he can't read the preview of the first text.

 _::I should have told you...::_

Shit. Shit shit _shit_. He makes himself open the text, but only because the alternative is going back inside the house that smells of fear and blood and dead fish where Jack is just standing, daring to look confused that everyone isn't running to him to drown him in affection.

 _::I should have told you, and I accept that this is totally my fault but I couldn't figure out how to tell you, and then I couldn't figure out how to tell you why I didn't tell you and it all kind of got out of hand from there but I can't just show up in town and spring this on you.::_

This is not promising. He's exhausted, it's been almost three weeks since he had a day off, and despite the fact that Cheyenne is not actually his girlfriend, ignoring everyone's insistence to the contrary, it still feels enough like she's breaking up with him to make his guts hurt as he hesitates in opening the second message which for some reason is a picture.

"Awesome. She got married. She got married and she sent me a bloody photo instead of telling me." Maybe she was his girlfriend after all because this absolutely feels like coming back to the hub to find it empty and Jack gone. This is obviously his own bad habit of starting new relationships without ending old ones come back to bite him very hard. He highlights the text message and briefly ponders deleting it without reading it only to curse low and open it quickly, like pulling off a bandage.

He has no idea what he's looking at, because this is not a wedding picture set somewhere in the crazy wild jungles of India where she's been for the past five months, or the ruins she's been working at, or even back at the camp site in Peru. This isn't even a picture of Cheyenne. A mixture of relief and annoyance make him a bit giddy as he stares down at the picture of one of her numerous nieces and nephews that she sent him instead of whatever it was she meant to. It's a handsome little boy, her family does seem to always make some stunning children, gnawing on his fist and staring up at the camera with enormous bluish-grey eyes and a head full of black curls that are making his heart pound and his mouth go dry because on closer inspection this does not look like any of Zane's five children, all as dark as their mother, or William's four who all have huge masses of caramel and copper curls from their blonde mother. Ianto lets himself sit roughly on the step, head down as he tries to suck air through a throat gone too narrow and lungs that obviously aren't fucking working and holy shit as of last week Anthony was still dating that Korean girl from Richmond that Cheyenne can't stand and Smith is seventeen and gay and there are words when he scrolls down to the bottom but damned if they make any sense the first time he reads them, or the second, so Ianto stares at them until they make sense.

 _::His name is Indiana::_

He likes to think vomiting in the bushes is a nicely restrained reaction to the fact that he's pretty sure he's just been told he's a father via text message.

***

Obviously he looks like hell, or maybe just like people need to get the hell out of his way, because no one says anything to him through the clean up, not even Jack who's hovering just at the edge of his eyesight no matter where Ianto is.

"Can someone come help me with the body please?" Gwen sounds harried in the front room, trying to get the blowfish removed as fast as possible because Owen is making that face that says the man he's still monitoring may need an ambulance. Ianto flicks his eyes up from where he's carefully measuring retcon out into tea to glare expectantly at Jack who's lounging in the doorway hands in pockets as he stares.

"Ah." Jack rocks awkwardly on his heels before sighing and turning away from Ianto and the two women still shaking at the table. "Hold on Gwen, I've got it!" Watching Jack walk out the door doesn't feel any better or worse than having Jack lurking just outside of arms reach staring at him. In fact, Ianto thinks he might have officially reached and surpassed the limit of his ability to give a rats ass for the rest of the day because right now everything just feels kind of numb.

"Right then." At least his soothing-hysterical-witnesses voice doesn't depend on caring one way or another. "I'm sure you'd both like to forget all about what happened here tonight." It's not Jack's protocols, telling the witnesses they're about to lose their memories of what happened to them, but Jack hasn't been the boss since he walked out on them and the already small percentage of retcon failures has become even smaller since they began explaining what was happening before it happened. "Here, take this and you'll never have to think about this again." He's got an aspirin in his hands and retcon already in the mugs because not all of Jack's tricks are bad and not everyone wants what he's offering, but the mother snatches it desperately out of his hands, gripping it tightly in her palm as she stares at Owen stitching carefully at the man on the carpet.

"Is my husband going to be okay?"

"He'll be fine. Owen is a hell of a doctor. You'll wake up in the morning and your husband will be just fine." And if he isn't, it won't be any worse a surprise than those things typically are. The woman looks back towards her husband and recoils as Jack strides by, limp corpse wrapped securely in the blood spattered curtains. She drinks the drugged tea so quickly Ianto's a bit worried she's going to scald her mouth and sags down in her seat, eyes wet and dull as she looks at him.

"When does it start? The forgetting?"

"Not long now. By the time my associate helps you to bed, you'll be ready to go to sleep and not remember a bit of it." Tosh comes when he beckons, taking the woman by the elbow and guiding her up the stairs, talking softly the entire time. "Ready?" The girl isn't looking at him, isn't really looking anywhere but her fingers, twisted tightly together.

"No." Her voice breaks despite only being a whisper. "I have fish...I have alien fish stuff in my h-hair. I need to w-wash my hair but you have to come with me!" Her fingers are cold as they grab at his wrists.

"Oh. Oh, um, no. No, I cannot come with you to the shower sweetheart. I can get..." Shit, where's Gwen when you need her.

" _No_! You can stand outside but it's got to be you because you were the only one who was going to shoot. I'll be quick, I promise." Her voice is a small quaver and the hint of a lisp is shoving Couldn't-care-less aside because this girl can't be sixteen and she's trying her hardest to keep her shit together when her mother has already flaked out, strangers are digging bullets out of her father, and there are alien fish brains in her hair. "Please?"

"Owen!" The doctor looks up and the tension lines that were dug deeply around his mouth have eased. He's already stripping the rubber gloves off. "Owen, she wants to take a shower first. She'd like to wash her hair. If anyone needs me, I'll be outside the loo."

"Not a problem." This is why he hasn't put anything in Owen's coffee yet no matter how obnoxious he can be, the careful way he's talking to the girl. "He's going to be fine luv, we'll swing him by the hospital tonight, you and your mum can pick him up day after tomorrow most likely. Go take your shower and forget all about it sweetheart."

The girl is as quick as she promised, coming out in fluffy pink pajamas covered in yellow monkeys with her hair twisted up in a towel looking young and lost less than fifteen minutes later. Ianto pretends not to see her puffy swollen eyes, clicking the safety back on his gun and holstering it. He snags the tea, lukewarm now but he doesn't think she'll care, and follows her to a room where the pale pink paint is mostly hidden behind collages of posters, album sleeves, hubcaps, and photos. She drops down onto a bed covered with pillows and stuffed bears, pulling one into her lap and looking up at him.

“What if it doesn’t work?” She has a vanity chair, a delicate spindly thing that Ianto winces when he sits on, convinced it’s going to collapse under him.

“Then you’ll recognize me when I stop by in the next couple of days to check on you. Just tell me and I’ll give you a stronger dose, not a problem.” She takes the mug from his hand and swallows the aspirin, not even flinching at the cool tea as she drinks it down slowly.

“My name’s Caro.” Her toes are tucked under the edge of her comforter.

“Ianto.” Caro folds her arms over her knees, and rests her chin on them, staring up at him.

“I keep feeling the gun against my head.” Her voice is starting to slur ever so slightly as she whispers. “I keep waiting for it to fire.”

“That’ll stop as soon as you fall asleep and you’ll never remember it again.” Ianto unfolds himself from the tiny chair, easing her down onto her side as she starts to wobble and tucking the blankets up over her shoulder. “I think I just found out I might be a dad.”

Shit. And he’d been doing so well _not_ thinking about it.

“Why are you telling me then?” Her words are muffled into her pillow as she yawns.

“Because you won’t remember in a minute anyway and I haven’t said it out loud yet.”

“Well, _I_ think babies are lovely.” She trails off into a snuffly little snort and Ianto straightens her blankets the same way he does when he tucks Mica in.

“Well you’re fifteen and a girl, so that goes without saying.” He straightens and turns to the door, heart leaping up into his throat as he sees Tosh in the doorway. A flush around her ears and the way she’s mostly keeping her eyes on his tie answers the question he doesn’t have to ask. Good. Fine, he could use a second opinion anyway. “That’s what this is saying, isn’t it? I mean I _think_ that’s what she’s saying but I’m equally sure I’m not thinking straight right now, so I think I’d like a second opinion.” He knows he’s babbling a bit as he snatches his phone out of his jacket pocket flipping to his inbox, but Tosh is apparently not put off by his low nervous rumble. She’s a small silent presence at his elbow, taking the phone he thrusts at her silently. Her brows climb as she skims the message quickly, disappearing up beyond the fringe of her hair as he thumbs over to the photo. “I read that right, didn’t I?”

“Oh yes, you certainly did.” Her words are dry and for a moment Ianto can’t shake the stomach clenching conviction that she’s terribly disappointed in him before her face softens and she grabs his wrist, angling his arm for a better look. “Well, if he is or not, he’s certainly precious isn’t he?”

Ianto turns off the phone without looking back down at the photo. Can’t let himself get sucked into letting his thoughts run away with him until after he’s spoken to Cheyenne.

“We should get back downstairs.”

***

He ponders just texting her, just to clarify the situation, the entire ride back and while he’s arranging a tow for the car _and_ while setting up a false police report for a mugging on Caro’s father before deciding against it as he brings his incident report and all the hard copies down to Gwen. She’s standing in the middle of the Hub coordinating everything as Tosh and Owen weave around her rattling off facts and walking wide around Jack. Like he’s a particularly foul piece of furniture.

Not that Ianto’s feeling any more generous himself, willing himself not to look at the man as he comes down the stairs, passing his folders off.

“The car’s been impounded. I’ll get it back to the owner in the morning.” Unless Owen comes through with his promise to put them all on three days administrative medical leave the moment Jack shows back up, over-rideable only by emergency. Let Jack pick up the slack a bit, because they’re all dead on their feet.

“Ianto?”

“Hello?” He’s spaced out, busy thinking about how much sleep he’s going to want to catch up on and busy _not_ thinking about how he still needs to call Chy before she ends up on a plane and out of reach until her next layover.

“Sorry, um. Can you deal with the body when it’s cold?”

“My pleasure.” It beats standing here overtired and thinking too hard. “Unless you mean making sushi.” Gwen grins at him, tapping him in the chest with the files in her hands.

“No, the morgue will do fine, thank you.”

“Got pretty organized without me.” Jack sounds a little wistful and even _hurt_ , the bastard, and the way everyone freezes you would think someone had farted in church.

“Yeah, well we had to.” Gwen’s voice is suddenly tight and rough and Ianto wonders how Jack could have forgotten them so much that he can’t see how close to the edge of losing it she is. How close to her limit she is as he continues blithely on, staring around the Hub.

“Hey, did you decorate in here?”

Ianto doesn’t reach out to stop her, even when Gwen knocks into him when she spins violently on her heels and plants both her hands in the center of Jack’s chest, shoving him hard enough to knock him back a step.

“You left us Jack!” Everyone is watching, silent and waiting.

“I know. I’m _sorry_.” Jack makes a small shrug but he doesn’t look away from their eyes.

“We knew nothing, Jack!”

“Where were you?” Tosh is managing, somehow, to keep her cool, stepping in when Gwen looks ready to slap the man or cry. Maybe both. Ianto has learned to respect the violence of Gwen’s temper when she’s on the verge of tears.

“I found my Doctor.” There’s a small lost sound to his words that Ianto wonders if anyone else can hear. Something wounded that makes him, unreasonably, angrier at Jack for daring to abandon them for the Doctor and coming back _broken_. Daring to stand on the edges in his own base instead of jumping in feet first with the epic tall tale of how he became deathless and how they then fixed it.

“Did he fix you?” Owen sounds like he can’t decide between furious and curious as he crosses his arms over his chest, resting his hip against a nearby console. For a moment Jack looks winded by the question, the corners of his mouth twisted into something bitter and angry before forcing a grin.

“What’s to fix? You don’t mess with this level of perfection.”

“Are you going back to him?” Of course he is. Ianto could smack himself for not keeping the question locked behind his teeth. Whatever they found out, what ever they tried didn’t work and Jack is leaving again…

“I came back for you.” He’s looking at Ianto. Staring at him like he hasn’t seen him in far too long and Ianto looks away first before this becomes a _thing_ in the middle of the Hub. A full blown roaring, cursing, breaking things _thing_. Jack swallows and Ianto can feel the weight of those deep blue eyes slide away from him. “All of you.”

No one says anything, maybe there’s nothing to say to that. Thankfully the rift saves them from having to find out.

***

Twenty minutes later they’re making their way back towards the SUV leaving the body of a man for the police to clean up. Whatever was hiding badly behind Jack’s eyes at the hub is gone now. He’s stepped back into his place and no one is stopping him. Frankly, if anyone else feels anything like Ianto does, it’s only holding tightly to how angry he is that keeps him from falling to his knees and singing hallelujahs that he might get back nights in his own bed and time off again. Hell, maybe that’s a good enough reason to cut Jack a break, at least on the professional front. Jack is reaching for the door handle when his wrist strap beeps, a sound it’s never made before anywhere in Ianto’s hearing. It’s curious enough to catch his attention, but the way Jack scrambles to turn it off is definitely what makes them stare at it.

“Whoa, that never beeps.” Not when wet, not when scanning, not even if you accidentally drool into it when waking up and mash ten buttons trying to wipe it up because you think you fell asleep on your phone again.

“That’s what I was thinking.” Jack is frowning down at the thing and presses a button and why does Jack’s wrist computer have a damn hologram voice mail? There’s a man in the image, so full of fuck me swagger even in a recording that Ianto feels his hackles wanting to go up on principal as the image flirts and smirks and admits off handedly to the murder of the man not even a hundred yards behind them before disappearing with a joke and a predatory grin. In the flicker of the hologram Jack’s face is stony and pale but his eyes are narrowed and focused. “Stay here. Don’t come after me.”

“Wait, who was that?” Jack ignores Gwen and yanks the door open hard, slinging himself into the drivers seat and slamming the door behind himself.

“Stay. Here.” Ianto ignores the urge to argue with Jack, stepping back as the man revs the engine and pulls away in a rush. Fuck him. Fuck him, and his weird-even-for-Torchwood mysterious bullshit. And fuck all of them for forgetting even for a second that this is the man who abandoned them already this year without a word. At least this time it seems to be for work. Let him go.

Ianto Jones, officially and for real, does not give a fuck anymore.

Jack can go be his own hero and Ianto is going to sit right there on _that_ bench across the street, call Cheyenne, and have an embarrassingly large fight with her at two am in the middle of the street on the phone. Because that’s how much of a fuck he does not give, and right now she’s number two on his list. He reaches for his pocket and stops short, blood pounding in his ears so loud it echoes, blue eyes narrowed and flinty.

His bloody phone is in the SUV.

Tosh is waving her scanner around, insisting she can track Jack, which is good, because Ianto did not want to be that asshole who actually blindly commandeers a cab, like the one idling outside the pub a couple blocks down. Licking his lips Ianto tilts his head back and whistles sharp and piercing, startling everyone behind him as he throws up his arm.

“Taxi!”

It’s ridiculous, almost embarrassing, and maybe funny enough that they can all see it even as they’re all crammed too tightly into a cab following the GPS on the SUV to what sounds like a bar fight over the scanners, cursing Jack the entire time.

“ ‘Cause it's typical Jack, isn’t it? Disappears, he comes back, then he runs away again. Shuts us out. We don't even know his real name.” There’s not really room for Gwen to flail around and gesture squished as she is in the back with him and Tosh, but that doesn’t seem to stop her from trying.

“Or which time he comes from.” Tosh is dodging Gwen’s elbows and hands with small neat movements, her focus locked on the machine in her hands.

“Exactly. He's supposed to be our boss, we know nothing about him. It drives me crazy!” Apparently he makes them all crazy, which is why they’re stuffed into a cab like clowns in a circus car with all the equipment they had on hand when Jack drove away and a driver who keeps staring at them in the rearview like he’s not sure if he should be frightened or not. Jack is a selfish jerk who makes them all crazy enough that damned if they can keep themselves from running off behind him.

“It is more fun when he's around, though.” The fact that everyone agrees with him, no hesitation, is probably a sign of how insane they all actually are.

***

It’s not the Doctor, which is a drum beat of relief that Ianto is trying not to feel as he sits jammed in the rear seat with Tosh almost in his lap to make room for Gwen and Owen. The message wasn’t the Doctor calling Jack back, but an ex that Jack has him holding a gun on the entire cramped ride back to the Hub isn’t much better. Waiting for Captain John Hart to strip himself of weapons is like watching that bit with Keira Knightly in the last Pirates movie, except for the part where Owen looks like he would really love to shoot the man just on principal.

Ianto lets himself yawn long and hard as he’s locking the weapons in the armory. He passed the twenty-four hour mark forty minutes ago, Cheyenne is definitely in the air by now and well out of contact on her way into a city full of alien dirty bombs with a kid that he thinks might be his. He’s not nearly awake enough for this. He snags Owen by the back of the collar as he passes by, tugging him off to the side.

“Patch me.” The medic scowls at him.

“You know the rules about those things. You’ve got to be twenty-four hours on active duty before I can give you one.”

“Check the Rota. I’m twenty-four hours, forty-three minutes, and…” He fishes out his stopwatch. “nineteen seconds into active duty and I’m starting to feel stupid. Give me the damn thing.”

“Fine, but don’t come whining to me about how you’re going to crash hard and sleep through your girlfriend’s visit. Come on.” They brush past Jack, leaning against the stairs and Ianto gives up on pretending he doesn’t feel the weight of the other man’s gaze on the back of his neck. Ianto hops up on the edge of the gurney, loosening his tie and shrugging out of jacket and shirt. “Remember, only one in twenty-four hours, no more than two in ninety-six, mandatory twenty-four off as soon as the emergency at hand is over. Fuck, maybe I should slap one on all of us, make sure we all have to go home and get some fucking sleep.” He’s got the extra strength purple gloves on as he takes one of the thin orange plastic sheets out of the lock box. Owen whips his wrist sharply, snapping the tiny square and turning it bright green before pressing it to the skin between the wings of Ianto’s shoulder blades. “And no taking anything to get to sleep if you get to take it off early. You wanted it, you ride it out.”

“Owen, I’m pretty sure I know the instructions better than you by now. Thanks though.”

“Yeah, well…whatever.” He shrugs and lowers his voice. “If Jack doesn’t stop eye fucking you like a thirteen year old girl with a crush I’m going to vomit. Talk to him and either make him the happiest little girl at his slumber party or put him out of his misery. I don’t care, but make him stop. It’s creeping me out.”

“Owen, the amount of shit I’m going through today is shameful. I _actually_ debated whether or not to put cluster bombs at the top, but chasing Jack down and begging him to talk to me is not even in my top ten right now.” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice, knows very well that Jack heard everything Owen said anyway. “If Jack needs to talk to me, he knows where to find me.” He’s already feeling more alert and clear headed as he fastens himself back into his clothes.

Jack is not at the top of the stairway when Ianto comes back up them, system buzzing as it pumps alien adrenaline through his body, but Jack’s ex is. John is draped over a railing, teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he makes no attempt to be covert in dragging his eyes from Ianto’s head to the toes of his shoes.

“I’m going to guess it’s you. You’re all quite pretty but you…a proper little piece of eye candy. Sharply dressed and disapproving verging on pouty, unimpressed and not afraid to let him know it. Probably a little bit mean, a little bit dangerous, and a little bit unstable, if I still know…Jack? You’re exactly his type.” Ianto pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the man with one brow arched.

“Eye Candy?” He squares his shoulders and smirks, even as he knows the first fifteen minutes or so after putting on a patch tend to make him a bit reckless and yes, a bit mean so this is probably a bad idea. He also knows he doesn’t care less. “I’ve had worse from better, Captain Hart.”

“Oh Eye Candy.” The man steps forward, swinging himself under the bars and dropping lightly to his feet just inches away from Ianto who refuses to step back. John wraps his hands around the railings behind himself, leaning forward far enough that Ianto can smell him, that same strange spicy burnt sugar musk to his skin that Jack has. “Let’s not lie, you’ve _never_ had better.”

Ianto can’t keep himself from grinning manically.

“Touch me and I will leave you laid out on this floor.” The urge to do _something_ that’s been building in him since the night began is racing over his skin and pounding this prick into the floor sounds fantastic. He’s so close that Ianto can see the other man’s eyes dilate as he sways forward, only to freeze at the loud click of a chambering bullet.

“I’m pretty sure that was my tea-boy telling you to get the hell out of his face.” Owen normally only sounds this pleasant when he’s elbow deep in something dead and strange and it’s a bit relieving to know he’s not the only one who’s more than willing to use this dangerous stranger as Jack’s whipping boy. “I’ve been wanting to shoot you since I saw you. Straighten up, nice and slow, and walk the fuck away.” The man does and the friendly smile on his face never flickers.

“You’re a lot more fun than I thought you’d be.” He saunters away, no other word for it really, and as soon as he’s out of earshot Owen has Ianto by the tie.

“You’re a fucking twat and you knew better. Go make the damn coffee.”

***

Ianto forces himself to keep his head down and his mouth shut all through the briefing and the division of labor, waiting for the first rush of alien uppers to fade out of his system and leave him level headed and awake without being strung out.

“Owen patched you, huh?” Jack is watching him from the corner of his eye as they drive through the night across town.

“And was your first clue watching him do it, or the fact that I’m climbing the car door?” Jack sighs, a tired noise from the drivers seat and doesn’t try again until they’re out of the car and breaking into the offices on the upper floor.

“Oh, yeah! Loving that office-y feel! I always get excited in these places. To me, they're exotic. Office romances ... photocopying your butt ...well, maybe not your butt, although as we're here, why don’t we ...” The shaky edge to everything is gone and Ianto can at least appreciate the effort Jack’s putting in his attempt to convince them both that nothing is different, even if he’s not falling for it.

“The rift was active at these coordinates approximately two hundred feet above ground. That means this floor or the roof.” Ianto turns, rummaging through the desk of someone who has pictures of their kids on their desk and a psp in the top drawer.

“How are you, Ianto?” The question is a bit soft and unsure, probably one of the few completely honest things Jack has said since he showed up. Ianto shrugs and tries not to feel flattered. Not when he’s sure Jack had or will have similar little intimate ‘I-missed-you-forgive-me’ moments with everyone else before the night is done.

“All the better for having you back Sir...”

Shit. He thought he could do this, play casual and normal with Jack until they have the privacy and time for Ianto to tell him exactly what he thinks of what’s happened, but it’s not working that way. It’s like his resolution is melting and his blood is boiling at the same time. He fumbles through the closest desk that lets him put his back to Jack.

“Can we maybe drop the Sir now?” The hesitance to Jack’s words, to _Jack_ , is doing a rumba on top of the grave of all his good intentions for telling the older man to go fuck himself. “While I was away, I was thinking ... maybe we could, you know, when this is all done ... dinner? A movie?”

Okay, that’s _definitely_ enough to get his attention. Ianto turns on his heels, brushing his suit jacket back to rest his hands incredulously on his hips.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Interested?”

Fine, they’re obviously doing this here then. Ianto shoves his hands in his pockets and hopes the baffled look on his face isn’t as awkward as the fidgety something on Jack’s own expression.

“You left Jack. No note, no call, no text and I don’t just mean to me. Not a word to any of us. You were just gone, no answer to your phone, no body heat when we ran scans. You keep looking at us like you don’t know why we’re pissed, so let me be really clear. Not _one_ of us would have thought twice about you leaving with your Doctor, we get that you had questions that deserve fucking answers, okay? But we thought you were dead again. We thought we had left you alone and something had gone wrong. We tore the Hub apart for _days_ looking for your body. Then we spent even more time, time we should have been coordinating with UNIT to _repair the city_ , dodging their calls shifting through rift data trying looking for whatever must have slunk out of the aftershocks and taken you under our noses.

“It was UNIT who identified the pattern in the data and told us you’d left us, without a single word, to run off with an alien who lives in a bloody phone box! _UNIT_ is who had to tell us you were just biding your fucking time and had been the entire time. You fucked off, and even when you came back, and yes, we saw you in May as public enemy number two, you still couldn’t be arsed to let us know? Just because you don’t trust us doesn’t mean we wouldn’t have rallied every fucking resource at Torchwood’s command if you’d just called. And now you want to what? Show up with no explanation and grab a burger and go see the Watchmen before you fuck me?” Ianto rakes his hands through his hair. “I need more than that from you, Jack but not now. Because right _now_ your ex is in town hunting radioactive bombs that I’d like to pack him off with before Cheyenne gets here at,” Ianto goes to check his watch before shoving his hands in his pockets in frustration. “Well, at some point today. So right now I need to get this done and if you want to tell me what happened, give me one good reason why it had to happen later, I’ll listen Jack. I _will_ , and if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine too.”

“Yeah.” Jack has been slumped against the doorjamb the entire time Ianto has been ranting at him, arms crossed low over his stomach trying as hard not to look like Ianto is kicking him when he’s down, as Ianto is trying not to see it that way. He straightens up, squaring his shoulders and dusting his coat off. “Well then, if we’ve got company coming to town we should probably get this done before your patch wears off and you fall asleep on her.” The corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up and Ianto lets himself roll his eyes because it’s hardly a stretch of the imagination where Jack has let his brain wander off to. “Looks like we're gonna have to go through every drawer, bin and plant pot.”

“Right. Okay. I'll do this floor, don't want you getting overexcited, and you take the roof. You're good on roofs.” Jack nods, turns to make his way to the roof and stops, looking over his shoulder at Ianto with an arched brow.

“So, just to clarify, that’s a no then?”

"I don't know Jack! I'm _angry_. I'm mad at both you and Cheyenne actually,” Jack cocks an eyebrow curiously and Ianto ignores it, plowing past whatever the other man is thinking. “And I guess I'm not saying no, but I am saying I have a _lot_ to think about right now and maybe you should ask yourself if you're willing to work for it if you want me to say yes."

Jack grins at him, looking more himself than he has since Ianto first saw him again.

“It’s not a no.” Jack disappears into the stairwell and Ianto lets himself enjoy the fact that not a no from him is enough to send Jack away whistling.

***

Jack has to have the fucking thing on the roof, because Ianto has opened every drawer, cupboard, and toilet stall in the office. He’s found candy stashes, emergency money, video games, and whoever sits at the desk in the back corner keeps their disgusting fingernail clippings under their out tray but there’s no bomb canister.

From the hall an elevator bell chimes and Ianto freezes, pulling out his Torchwood badge and standing still to let whoever it is come to him. Nothing would be more embarrassing than coming to with Owen crowing about how he was dropped by an overzealous rental copper with a hair trigger on his taser.

Every hair on his body is trying to stand up as nothing but silence comes from the elevator banks. His SIG is a comfortable weight in his hands as Ianto chambers a bullet and slips silently into the hallway. The first elevator is closed and six floors down according to the plaque above it, but the second one is standing wide open as he approaches it nervously.

The feeling of a gun muzzle to the back of his head is one Ianto is becoming entirely too familiar with.

“Into the lift Eye Candy.” He’d like to think he looks tough, murderous maybe, but Ianto can see his own reflection in the polished steel and he looks exactly as terrified as he feels when John Hart presses up against him far closer than he needs to be to take the gun from Ianto’s hand. He doesn’t step back as he allows Ianto to turn in the open doorway. The barrel is pressed firmly against the center of his forehead and he lets the man in the red coat back him into the confined space, wishing he’d made time to call Cheyenne and just told Jack yes instead of ripping him a new one. “Your friends are bleeding and dying. You _barely_ have enough time to save them.” It’s taking everything he has to reach up and tap his ear piece instead of giving in to the obviously suicidal urge to rush the armed man.

“Owen? Gwen?”

“What am I, a child? It's primitive bit of technology, easily blocked; you should be embarrassed. And when you get to the bottom, _run_. You look like a man who enjoys a challenge, see if you can save them.” The muzzle of the gun strokes down his face, the sight scratching a thin pressure line from his temple to the corner of his mouth where Jack’s ex taps the barrel against the corner of his lips. “Come back up here, I'll shoot on sight.”

John steps backwards out of the elevator, and even as a shuddering sigh of relief escapes his lips Ianto’s already wishing for just one mistake. Just one chance to get his hands on the bastard leering at him as the mechanical recording announces the elevator is going down.

“Going down? Yes please.” The elevator doors hit his palms with a meaty slap as Ianto lunges forward, slamming the doors back open to stare back down the dark chamber of the gun that was almost lowered.

“Why are you doing this?”

“We're a cosmic joke, Eye Candy, an accident of chemicals and evolution. The jokes, the sex.” The next time he looks at Ianto like that, like he’s pondering fucking him right here and doesn’t need the gun to do it, the threat of a bullet might not be enough to keep him from swinging. “Just cover the fact that nothing means anything. And the only consolation is ... MONEY. So run, Ianto Jones!” The doors close and Ianto slams his fist into the brushed steel walls with one hand, digging out his cell with the other.

There’s no answer from anyone on the internal or personal lines as he runs from the lobby and hurls himself behind the wheel, digging his keys free as he tries to contact Jack as well.

“Come on.” Nobody. He can’t get not one of them on the fucking line. He drums his fingers on the wheel and punches the trackers on Owen and Gwen’s cars into the GPS. Tosh and Owen are closer and Ianto throws the sirens on and puts his foot down to the floor.

***

He jerks the wheel, yanking the SUV sideways into a skidding stop behind Owen’s car. At this rate he’s going to have to take it in again to be realigned before the week is over. The door illuminated by the headlights is padlocked, the lock new and shiny against the hinged metal plate. Ianto leaves the headlights on as he slams out of the vehicle and slings open the back. The bolt cutters are gone. Someone has moved the fucking bolt cutters again without replacing them and if they all get out of this then everyone is going to have to sit down and just take the royal bollixing he’s giving them about how Ianto hates saving their collective asses without his _things_. There’s still a pry bar in the recessed tool area and he snatches that out, smashing down on the shiny lock.

It snaps lose with a rattle and clank and Ianto ignores the part of him screaming that he has to go get Tosh and Owen _right now_. The dash back to the SUV takes less than seconds and at least the first aid kit is exactly where it should be and stocked. Ianto slings it over his shoulder and let’s his momentum transfer to the kick he gives the door, knocking it open.

“Tosh! Owen!” The night lighting in the warehouse is rubbish, spotty and flickering as Ianto heads for the back furthest from the door. Personally, it’s where he always lays his traps.

“Ianto!” Tosh’s voice comes, yep, from the back left corner of the warehouse.

“Tosh!” He’s nervous about Owen not calling out, enough to make sure his gun is in hand as he hurries back towards her voice.

“We’re over here!” The top of her head pops up, becoming all of her as Ianto hurries towards them. Owen is propped up at an angle next to Tosh looking massively pissed as he finishes field dressing what looks like a gunshot wound. There’s dried blood on her face but her hands are steady when he hands her his gun.

“What happened?” Owen slumps back, taking his weight on his elbows as Ianto drops to the floor next to him and fishes out one of the preloaded syringes of pain killers from the black shoulder bag. The skin around the wound is lightly bruised from the impact, tender and red as he injects the Stadol as close to the wound as he can.

“Where’s Gwen? Have you heard from Gwen?” The need to get their doctor on his feet and moving is mixing with the skin crawling feeling of having his back to the cavernous dark space and only Tosh armed.

“No.”

They need to get moving, because if Owen was bleeding, then Gwen is dying.

***

They find Gwen collapsed on the floor of a shipping container, breath ragged and shallow, lips paling to blue and pumped full of poison. The anti-toxin kit is still in the wheel well back in the car and half way across the ship yard. Ianto runs there and back as fast as he can and tries not to make a wounded sound at the sight of Owen pumping at a bag mask clasped over her mouth.

“See, could have run track, what did I tell you? Ianto’s going to come take over breathing for you, I’ll get you the right shot, we’ll throw a patch on you too, and then we’re going to blow that shifty fucking cunt Hart full of holes. Remember Gwen, we're breathing for you to slow the shutdown. Staying calm will slow the absorption rate. Keep her calm and her breathing steady, Ianto.” Tosh deftly takes the white steel case with the biohazard markings from Ianto’s hands, leaving him free to kneel carefully next to Gwen and put his hands on the bag with Owen’s to get his rhythm.

He hates using the rescue bag. The same overactive part of his brain that panics when anyone lines their eyes in cars is always convinced he’s going to pump too hard and pop someone’s lungs like a balloon. Gwen’s eyes are huge and wet as Owen moves his hands carefully away, leaving Ianto to keep up the exact same pressure and speed. Off to the side he can hear Tosh and Owen muttering as they run the scanner over samples of the various terrestrial and alien anti-toxins they have to find the best match, voices low as they discuss their course of action.

“So, the bad news is you’ve been poisoned, the worse news is I’m pretty sure you have space cooties too.” Gwen might not be able to breathe on her own, but she can still give him a look that’s amused despite herself and a little bit chiding. "And I know you're thinking 'Ianto, pet, it's not the time.' but you would be wrong, because the last time I told a girl she had cooties she flattened me. I was seven of course, but I learned my lesson well and the lesson is, women can only be told they have cooties when unable to strike back. You'll need a cootie shot as well as an anti-toxin. I'd give you one, but fucked if I remember how, something with circles and dots, I'd have to ask my nephew to be sure."

"The places your bloody brain goes sometimes Jones. Do I need to piss test you?" Owen leans over and raps him on the shoulder. There's a paper sick bowl in his hand filled with half an inch of something both yellow and translucent. "Wash her mouth. Lips, all around the outside and don't forget the inner edges but try not to let her swallow this. Make sure you give her another breath roughly every ten seconds at least."

"I'd beg your pardon, but I think we're all just entirely too familiar with each other to bother anymore. Blink when you need a breath." He works quickly, moving from the outside inwards in small strokes and changing gauze wipes every time he gives her another breath.

"Got it!" Tosh calls off to his right. "Ianto, make room and go back to breathing only." There's a bare needle sticking out of her mouth as Tosh scrambles across the floor, squeezing between himself and Gwen. A patch, purple for the next weight class down, held in her bare left hand which means that she has to wiggle half way across Gwen to fumble the buttons of her shirt open with her right hand. Ianto looks away, eyes locked on the far corner of the room as he very carefully measures out air and thinks of nothing but breathing because this is neither the time nor the place and if he gets hard then Tosh will definitely be able to tell and he will most certainly have to go home and shoot himself in the head.

Stupid Owen for getting shot. It still would have been inappropriately kind of hot, but at least he wouldn't have _cared_ about throwing off a "not now" boner. Because he wouldn't care what _Owen_ thought about him. It's his favorite thing about Owen, how little they can care about what the other thinks of them personally.

"Ianto, stop breathing for her." Someone some where must love him. Ianto scrambles back as quick as he can, straightening his clothes and trying to ignore the smug look on Owen's face that says this will be coming up again later, most likely in public. Tosh pulls the needle out of the vein at the base of Gwen's throat and snaps the tiny square in her hand, no bigger than a breath strip and slaps it low on Gwen's sternum, behind the bow on her bra. It turns bright blue except for two lavender ovals where Toshiko had held it in her bare skin. Gwen startles, her limbs jerking violently as she sucks in a ragged shrieking breath. She's shaking, a hard tremble, and Ianto turns to help Owen and give Tosh a moment to help Gwen get straightened up.

"Well, looks like you weren't kidding about slapping patches on all of us." Owen already has one sitting diagonally just over the arch of his shoulder blade as close to his back as he could get it.

"You know me, anything for a day off." There's also another syringe discarded on the ground next to him and Owen is moving like he didn't dig a bullet out of his own torso less than an hour ago, body running on a deceptive mask of alien uppers and really good synthetic opiates. "Come on Ladies. If we get to him before Jack does, we can claim he was coming right for us."

***

It was going so well and now he's standing on the same stupid car park they were at hours ago counting down to Gwen jumping into the rift handcuffed to a lunatic wearing a bomb.

Or he _was_ wearing a bomb. It clatters to the ground between John, who stares at it, and Jack, who dives for it.

"Five! Four!" There's a glitter and a warbling ringing in the air that is almost too low to hear, the precursor of a rift storm. "Three!" Tosh and Owen are scrambling for the safety of the cars behind them as Jack rushes the rift storm, his arm pulled back. "Two!" In the distance, behind the swirling twist of rift energy there's a dark smudge on the horizon; a plane coming in to land and he wonders if Cheyenne is on it. "One!" The bomb whips through the air so fast it actually whistles, the edges of it seeming to blur as it slides into the fold of space time and all the lights on it begin to flash. "Go!" He's close enough to dive for the same line of cars Tosh and Owen are huddled behind. Owen already has his body wrapped around Tosh and Ianto throws himself over them both, crushing them between his body and the solid body of the SUV as the rift blows wide over them, flashing everything white and gold before the shockwave hits.

He doesn't come to, because he doesn't lose consciousness, but Ianto does lay on his back for a moment breathing deeply through nausea and trying to ignore the ringing in his ears from where the back of his skull rapped the cement floor and the breathless feeling from the back of Owen's head smacking pretty roughly into his guts.

"What the hell!" Jack sounds less than impressed, which Ianto hopes has something to do with the fact that it's _dark_ because so help him if there's something even more wrong than _that_ , then he's not sure what he's going to do, but it will be epic. Tosh is already on her feet, Owen moving a bit more slowly, but they're both staring down at him. Owen curses and tosses something out of his pockets before leaning forward and groping around in Ianto's.

"I didn't hit my head _that_ hard Owen."

"Idiot. I'm looking for your lighter."

"Well, that isn't it." It is actually, but it's worth the disgusted grimace from Owen and the rolled eye from Tosh as the medic yanks the black bic out and strikes it entirely too close to Ianto's face.

"No concussion. Good enough. Let's go before Jack does something stupid like let the fucker go."

Jack is very obviously going to 'do something stupid like let the fucker go' because not only is John Hart still on his feet, he's not even bleeding. Instead he's staring around in amusement as Jack rants and storms.

"Now we have to avoid ourselves, great!"

"It's a temporal displacement! Makes your tongue tingle, doesn't it?" Hart has the gleeful look on his face of a child with an unexpected snow day. Ianto is half expecting him to stick his tongue out and try to catch rift fall out. "Lovely!"

Cheyenne's ring tone comes from his pocket, but stops before Ianto can reach in and kill the call. He reaches in to turn it off, even though he's pretty sure he did that hours ago at the Hub and stares at the call that he's apparently on and the clock in the corner that says it's ten to midnight yesterday night.

Well, isn't it sad that this isn't weirder?

Hart is giving Jack a sly little look even as he tips his head back and slides his fingers down his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing before he pulls his fingers free, key dangling between them.

"Old Artesian trick. Keep it in the lining of the throat." He points at Gwen as if imparting a great secret while snapping them out of the cuffs. "Has a lot of uses."

"You had that all _along_?" Gwen's voice is a strangled thing as she balls her hands into fists at her side.

"You were my passport to survival. No hard feelings. Well, not in that sense." Hart leans back to run his eyes over Gwen and she rocks back a step and swings, her fist crashing into his face with a heavy sound. That. That right there is a perfect example of what Ianto was thinking about earlier tonight...or tomorrow.

"Oh!" Owen has a hand over his mouth in sympathetic response that does nothing to hide his grin, even as he reaches out and restrains the woman from taking another swing.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side." Because that was a huge hit from such tiny fists.

Jack has his hand out expectantly and Hart reaches into his red coat, fishing out Jack's wrist strap with a little pout. Like this whole night has been a big interesting game that he lost and it isn't fair. He must make some kind of noise when Jack and John start bantering about the size of their stupid wrist straps because Tosh reaches over and lays her hand on the top of his arm. A soothing touch that turns to a restraining grip as Hart has the balls to look Jack earnestly in the eyes and offer to stay. To join them, like it's a game of hide and seek he can just step into.

"No." At least Jack is as annoyed by the idea as everyone else.

"Really?" The fact that he sounds so surprised, as if they aren't playing fair, has Ianto a bit concerned about the intelligence of the human race how ever far in the future John and Jack are from. "I could..."

"No."

"But..."

"No. Go now and you can harness the residual rift energy."

"Listen..."

"Goodbye." Jack's expression is remote and cold, glacial in a way that's unfamiliar and worrying. There's something like genuine hurt in the strangers eyes as he scowls and steps close, digging his fingers deeply into the muscles at the base of Jack's skull, crushing their mouths together into something with enough heat and hate in it to be a bit hot despite Ianto's best attempt not to stare. Hart steps back and hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his skin tight jeans, weight balanced just so on his heels. He cocks an eyebrow and saunters backwards, fingers tapping away at his own wrist strap. A swirl of light and time forms around him, rift stuff twisting around him and then through him, his skin glowing from inside and flecks of light in his eyes that make them glow a wolfish gold.

"Oh! By the way...meant to tell you. I found Grey." Hart steps into the light and is gone, leaving Jack standing there with his hands at his side, face stricken.

"Who's Grey?" Owen has his hand still on Gwen's shoulder, keeping her in place as she tries to step forward. Jack keeps his back to them for a moment before taking a breath so deep it visibly moves him.

"It's nothing. Let's get back to work."

"Yeah, about that," Owen moves his hand away from his side, showing Jack his bloody palm. "Not a snowballs chance in Hell. Some of us get shot and stay hurt Harkness. Every one of us is over twenty-four hours on duty and we've all been patched. I'm enforcing a twenty-four hour stand down for all four of us. Does anyone need any medical attention before I go home, get shit faced and have the tea boy stitch me up?"

"Oh come on Owen, really? I _hate_ stitching people, it grosses me out."

"And yet your stitches are so delicate, as if done by fairies. Shut up and sew this hole in my guts shut."

***

They all end up at Owen's huge loft since the Hub is off limits, Jack of the past prowling around looking for his team. The real Jack, Jack of now, is sprawled out in Owen's armchair, eyes flicking between the read outs glowing in the air above his wrist strap and OZ on the doctor's big screen plasma. On the screen a big man is shoving a spoon in a smaller man's face and one of the lines Jack is monitoring jumps as Gwen cringes.

"Owen, this is twisted! Let's watch something else."

"Ianto is sitting on me shoving a needle in and out of my stomach and I cannot take so much as an aspirin for the next four hours. _Someone_ is going to suffer more than me, even if only on TV. There, see that? That man now has a spoon in his ass. I feel positively lucky in comparison, and this is only episode three of season one."

"Oh God." Gwen gags a bit and for someone who typically likes their shows as gross as television allows even Jack looks put off.

"There we go. You are now minus one hole." The surgical thread knots easily under Ianto's fingers and splits smoothly under the scissors. The muscles around the stitches are twitching and jumping in spasm as Ianto bandages it up tightly.

"At least you didn't cry this time."

"That was a psychic vampire feeding on people's sense of restraint. You _cannot_ count that."

"I can. You cried all day. All day Jack. He cried when I ate his chocolate chip muffin, he cried when he got mad, he cried when he got scared, and he cried stitching me up because he doesn't like it when other people shoot me."

"I'm pretty fond of me shooting you though. Dick."

"Owen is absolutely being a dick." Gwen twists away from the television, any excuse not to watch sodomy with silverware he supposes. "It was a side effect of the feeding. It's how we knew what was making him sick. The others cried themselves to death."

Ianto ponders thumping Owen one with his elbow as he slides off the slender man sprawled on the couch before deciding not to. If it's keeping Owen from thinking about the burning pull of the stitches in him Ianto supposes he can eat the 'Vampires made Ianto cry about muffins' story this time. In his pocket his text message chimes and Tosh looks up at him, one eyebrow arched. It's not hard to read the question in her eye and he nods shortly, glad she's Toshiko and so the very freakin soul of discretion.

Unlike Owen.

"Hey, isn't that the message you spent all freakin night crawling out of your skin to deal with? What did Cheyenne want anyway?" This is his fault for letting everyone continuously ask about her and then actually answering. The entire team is far too involved in his strange one night stand that never actually ended.

"I have no words for how much that is none of your business, but if you let me borrow your room for a mo' I'll try to come up with some."

"I don't care. Go mad. Everyone is welcome for exactly...how long 'till Gwen's done?"

"Fourteen minutes." Jack is watching the screen like he's both hypnotized and repulsed.

"Then you have thirteen minutes, because I want you all out as soon as we're sure all the poison's cleared out."

"Except for me." Tosh waves absently, engrossed in the show. “Official babysitter.”

"Fine, whatever. Twelve minutes."

Owen's room is huge with a bank of windows looking out over the bay. The bed is the huge decadent kind Ianto has always kind of wanted but can't figure out how to get up his stairs and into his flat. The texts are back on his phone and Ianto flops down on the foot of the bed and opens the second one again.

It's a beautiful child. Even if he wasn't sure he's looking at his child he'd still think so. The tiny face is full and round, huge eyes wide and alert. He find himself looking for pieces of himself in the child. The nose looks like his, ever so slightly tipped up, maybe the chin and the shape of the eyes...

He takes a breath and dials from memory. The phone rings three times, long enough for him to be convinced that she's already in the air and he's missed his chance until she lands again, before she picks up breathless.

"Ianto?"

"I don't even know what to say to you right now. Why didn't you tell me Cheyenne?"

"Do you want the honest answer or the super honest answer?" Her voice is low and soothing and Ianto wonders if the baby is in the room. If he's sleeping, curled small and limp in her arms, warm in the early South Indian dawn.

"What's the difference?" He wonders if he sounds as run down as he's starting to feel regardless of the drug still coursing through him.

"One is less detailed and carefully phrased to make sure you don't get your feelings hurt, because that's not the goal. The other is just how it is without the polish."

"Stop. Just stop and tell me right now because you've been lying to me Cheyenne! For more than a fucking year you've been lying to me! You knew you were pregnant!"

"Well, I figured it out, that's for damn sure! Look, I don't know what happened all right? I'm on _great_ birth control. I made sure I got back on them before I left the fucking hospital _and_ I made a stop at the hospital pharmacy the next day and got an EC. So, you must have fucking Welsh super sperm or something. I was in Peru a month and a half before I knew and if we're being perfectly honest with no polish I didn't intend to _stay_ pregnant, but by the time I made it back to America for a week...I dunno, I just changed my mind. Went and told my family instead."

"Okay," He takes a deep breath and remembers the week she's talking about. She'd skyped him every night, her internet connection reliable for the first time since she left Iquiona a week after her arrival in Peru, and every night she'd had on her huge ugly pajamas and one of her many very large brothers many very large tee shirts. He'd thought it was cute and she'd been hiding a four and a half month pregnancy. "So, why didn't you tell me then?"

"Because you came home that day and got on the computer and told me Toshiko's girlfriend had _died_. It wasn't even a mystery how, I mean it obviously had something to do with whatever you do. A woman died, so do you see how I might have spent the past year trying to decide what to tell you, if anything? I still don't even know what you _do_ Ianto. I mean, I have a pretty good idea you're part of some kind of special ops team, I'm way to used to the particular brand of talking _around_ work that you use, but the fact that you can't _tell_ me that has me stressed, okay? I've lived that life Ianto. I've loved that kind of man before and lost him to a secret squirrel bullshit life and then like an asshole I went and met the same fucking kind of guy and got myself knocked up by you! It's one thing to mix myself up in this crap, but I wasn't sure if it was right to throw a kid into that. I'm still not sure."

"So why are you telling me now if that's how you feel?" There's a twisting coil of anger, guilt, and regret churning in his stomach. How can he dispute that kind of argument when he had a gun to the back of his head today and why doesn't knowing that stop the left out feeling of not knowing?

"Because it's one thing to feel that way when I'm in the middle of the jungle and only make it into a town with cell service every two weeks. It's kind of impossible to feel that way knowing you're just across town for a month. Also, and this is really super awkward...we need to get a blood test done." She's mortified and he can hear it over all the blood rushing out of his face.

"Oh shit. That night..?"

"With Jack? Yeah, because this wasn't bad enough. I don't, fuck. I don't _think_ so. I mean, _I_ think he looks like you, but honestly, he mostly just looks like himself. I can't stop thinking that I'm just seeing it cause that's what I want." In the background an alarm goes off and there's a soft fussing that's growing louder. His breath catches as Cheyenne murmurs some crooning nonsense quietly and the fretting cries turn into crooning burbles almost directly in his ear. "Look, my plane leaves in two hours. I've got to go. I've got a six hour layover in Mumbai around five-forty am your time, and then sometime around ten at night your time I've got another two hours in Amsterdam. Do you want me to call you when I get to Amsterdam?" He's heard the question hundreds of other times from her, but it's never sounded so hesitant. Like she's just waiting for him to say no.

"Call me from Mumbai." There's a moment of dead air, neither of them speaking or hanging up before Ianto hears her draw in one trembling breath and the line goes dead. He's shoving the phone in his pockets when he realizes that she hasn't mentioned telling Jack, because she doesn't know Jack is back too.

He _really_ hopes that doesn't make it his job to tell him.

Everyone is watching the television really intently when Ianto steps back into the main room and he can't tell if it's because they could hear what he was saying, or just that he was having a row at the top of his lungs in Owen's bedroom but Tosh looks awkward in a way no one else does, so he feels pretty confident he hasn't spread the news.

Shit, he's going to have to say something soon though, since Owen is the only person who can run a blood test on Jack.

Oh god, Owen’s the only one who can run blood tests on Jack because he's immortal and they don't know why, or if it can be passed on.


	2. Chapter 2

They drop Gwen off at her place and Jack drives them to Ianto's in silence, pulling the SUV behind the building and killing the engine.

"I didn't get a chance to check with you at Owen's. Are you okay?" It's dark behind the building and the interior of the vehicle has a reek of blood and sweat that's going to seriously suck to get out.

"Nope. I've had a gun to my head, had to breathe for Gwen and sew Owen shut, both of which creep me out in case you don't know, and I no longer remember how long I've been awake. I am absolutely not okay. I'm not hurt though. What about you? He said you were dead."

"I was. He shoved me off the roof."

"Jesus Jack, are you okay?" The older man flinches back against the driver’s seat when Ianto spins in his seat, reaching out to run his hands over the curve of Jack's skull and the width of his shoulders, but he doesn't pull away. The top layer of his hair is a little damp but the thick roots are still tacky and slimy with things Ianto doesn't want to be touching.

"I'm fine." His voice is easy and dismissive, but the muscles at the base of his skull are corded tight with tension and the inside of his coat collar is stiff with mostly dry blood. "Falling off a building's not so bad as far as dying goes. Very quick. I've had worse."

"Fucking Christ. You can't...God Jack, please don't do that. Don't talk about dying like it doesn't matter."

"Compared to the last year, getting shoved off a building doesn't matter in the slightest."

"A y...a year Jack?" His fingers are sticking to Jack's hair, tacky blood gluing them together and he can't figure out how to pull free without hurting him. "Look, you can't walk around all night with your, ew, with brains in your hair and the Hub is off limits until almost ten. Come on up. If you want to talk, great, but at least you can wash your hair."

"I'd love to, but you're kind of holding me in my seat." Why does Jack have to look like this? Exhausted, vulnerable, and bloody, but only if you bother looking closely. It's completely ruining four months of perfectly good rants and a couple of fantastically blistering ones as well. Ianto swallows back a sigh because he knows where this is going. 

Ianto likes broken things and he always has. He likes repairing the internet when it won't connect, the toilet when it won't flush, and the car when it won't start and he has the time. It's why he took over Flat Holm privately instead of adding it to the duty roster when Helen called him, unable to contact Jack. Because he likes to _fix_ things. Likes to know that _he_ is what made something better, and right now Jack looks like he could stand to be fixed, at least a bit.

"My fingers are stuck in your hair. I'm trying to figure out how to get them loose without hurting you."

"Oh." Jack blinks twice, like the concept is both foreign and a bit amusing before opening his door and stepping out of the SUV in one quick motion. There's a millisecond of hard tension and then Ianto's hand slides out of Jack’s hair and hits the back of the head rest with a thump. "There. No problems."

"Yeah." Ianto closes his fist around the handful of hair still stuck to his hand that Jack just ripped from his own head without flinching. "No problem."

***

Ianto keeps a pair of very basic clothes in everyone’s size on the shelf in the back of his closet for emergencies. Black sweats and an undershirt, nothing fancy but serviceable enough to get someone from here to wherever. He grabs the little storage bin with a J on it and a towel before knocking on the bathroom door.

“Jack, I’ve got you something to wear and a towel.” There’s no answer, so Ianto cracks the door open and slides inside to put everything on top of the toilet. Steam is billowing in the room, dancing on the currents of chill September air coming in through the wide open window. “Did I leave the window open since yesterday morning? Jesus, my bloody heat bill is going to be ridiculous…”

“Don’t shut it!” Jack sticks his head around the curtain and Ianto swallows heavily at the rivulets of pink water flowing down his shoulders. “That was me. Sorry. I just needed some air.”

“Yeah, not a problem. Just, um, bringing you something clean.” He’s brandishing the folded clothes like a shield in front of him so Ianto forces himself to put them on the toilet tank. “And a towel. You uh, do you want a brush or comb or something?”

“Yes please.” There’s that look again, the hollow one as Jack reaches up and touches a thick mat of hair at the back of his skull.

Talking about where Jack has been is starting to feel a bit less optional.

So is having him back.

“Here.” There’s a new comb and a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, more ‘just in case’ acquisitions, and Ianto pops them both open and shoves his hand blindly into the shower before yanking it back out with a curse. The water is almost scalding hot. Already the skin on the back of his hand is pinking up. “Shit! Are you trying to burn yourself?”

“It’s fine. It feels good.” Jack sticks a bright pink arm out over the shower curtain. “I’ll make sure I clean the drains when I’m done.”

It’s a pretty obvious dismissal. Ianto sticks the comb and toothbrush into the blindly searching hand and gathers up the pile of clothes on his floor before letting himself out of the small room. He sets Jack’s wrist strap on the counter where it can be seen as soon as the other man opens the bathroom door and takes the rest into the storage room.

There’s something indefinably ‘adult’ about owning your own washer and dryer. It says ‘I have roots. I have dirty whites and no time to just hang out for two hours in public in my rattiest clothes. I have a paycheck steady enough to invest in large appliances’ even though large appliances is a misnomer since his washer and dryer are compact and sit stacked on top of each other opposite the door to the storage area, plugged into a water line he found the last time Cheyenne was in town. The trousers are easily salvageable, just a quick pre-treat before emptying the pockets in the little wire basket next to him for that reason, but the blue shirt has soaked up enough blood at the collar and rear yoke to turn a foul purplish-brown and the white tee that was under it is hardly better. He doesn’t bother hesitating to step out to the kitchen and run both sides of the sink full of cold water since Jack seems intent on boiling himself, dumping bleach and salt in the left and Oxyclean in the other before submerging the shirts.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Jack is standing at the end of the bar, wrist strap back firmly around his arm as he looks around the flat. “Wow, seriously, did everyone redecorate?”

“I just shuffled a few things around, put some more stuff on the walls.”

“Yeah, but the stuff you’ve got up is pretty nice. Isn’t that Machu Picchu?” He walks over to a collection of photos and shadow boxes grouped on the far wall next to the bedroom. The top is a sweeping panoramic shot of ruins set among lush green mountains with mist coming off them in the early morning light.

“It is. It’s the shot Cheyenne sent back in March.” Most of them are pictures Cheyenne has taken over the past year. Ruins, mist over blackish green rivers at dawn, shadows stretching off over a waterfall, and huge leaves dripping rain water. “I let Rhiannon loose in my photos a couple of months ago.”

“I like the one of her.” It’s an extremely close head shot, mostly blocked by her approaching hand, covered in delicate loops of swirls of red henna from the tips of her fingers to where her forearm disappears out of the frame. Her face is flushed and eyes bright, stray hairs around her face as she goes to push the camera away. “So, she‘s on her way back?”

“ Yeah. She should be getting ready to board soon.” The implication of that makes his skin go cold. He doesn’t know how to deal with this, all of it piled on him at once leaving him struggling to find some place to catch his breath now that there’s nothing to do but think about it. He leans in the fridge and grabs two beers before flopping down onto the couch. “I just don’t know what to do Jack.”

“About Cheyenne?” Jack folds himself carefully onto the other end of the couch, one bare foot tucked under his knee as he cracks open the beer Ianto slides across the table to him.

“About Cheyenne, about you…” He flips the top off his own, taking a long pull of the thick bitter beer. “Damn it, these need to be two _completely_ different conversations but I literally don’t have time to wait between them. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Yep.” The muscles in Jack’s throat work in long ripples as he tips his head back and swallows in long draughts until the bottle is empty, setting it down on the table with a click. “But I’m going to need better than beer to do it.”

***

It takes half a bottle of tequila and a couple more beers apiece for Jack to run him through what is, frighteningly, obviously just the bare bones of the most awful experience Ianto can imagine. Ianto sits perfectly still on the edge of the couch hand gripping his latest beer, watching the way Jack’s toes flex and dig into the leather of his couch while he talks. He doesn’t move, just breathes evenly and tries to force his body to accept that the rage burning through him is useless. That there’s no one left to hurt for this.

“So you’re immortal…because one girl from London loved you enough to want to save you?” It seems the safest place to start.

“I am.” Jack’s hands are still shockingly steady as he pours another double shot. “Not the worst reason for it, all things considered. Maybe the only reason good enough for all the shit that comes with it. So, now that you know where I went, is my reason good enough for you?”

“Don’t be flip about it Jack.”

“I’m not. I want to _know_ if that was what you needed, because I’m running on fumes here Ianto. I’m tired, I don’t have anywhere else to be and I just really need to know what else I have to do.”

“I’d have to be a special kind of prick to need more than that Jack. It wasn’t your fault.” Jack freezes with his glass to his lips for a moment before swallowing in one large gulp.

“I um, I think I’ve had enough of that.” His voice is rough as he sets the tumbler down on the coffee table.

“Yeah. I should probably stop soon. Cheyenne’s going to be calling when she gets into Mumbai. Probably best not to be drunk for this one.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Oh God yes, because I don’t know what the hell to do. She lied to me, a freaking _huge_ lie and when she told me why, it was for a really good fucking reason. I’m mad. I’m _so_ mad Jack, because I should have _known_ but keeping secrets isn’t a glass house I get to throw stones at.” Jack sits up straighter, his head tipped to the side as he watches Ianto inquisitively. He digs the phone out of his pajama pocket and opens the picture, passing it to Jack in lieu of words he can’t quite figure out how to say.

“Oh? Oh.” Jack leans forward and wraps his hand around Ianto’s chin, turning his head forwards and tilting it up until he’s looking Jack full in the face. Deep blue eyes flick from the screen to his flushed face and there’s something soft about the set of Jack’s mouth as it turns upwards. “He’s beautiful.”

“Glad you think so because since she’s not sure when, she wants a blood test.” He’s startled, Ianto can see it in his eyes, but that warmth to him that’s been missing since he appeared behind Ianto with a smoking gun hasn’t disappeared.

“All right, we can do that pretty easily. We’re going to owe Owen a hell of a bribe though. So you found out…”

“Tonight? Yeah, yes I did. I asked her why she didn’t tell me, and she said it’s because of what I do. Because she doesn’t know we’re Torchwood, and it scares her enough when she thinks that I’m just on a black ops team. Apparently it’s ‘Secret Squirrel bullshit’ and James taking it in the line of duty doesn’t help my case. It’s bullshit he died that way, it’s bullshit she got knocked up by me when I’m just as dangerous, and she feels like an asshole for even considering bringing me around, so she’s gonna do her nut in a might-take-the-next-flight-to-America kind of way if she finds out about everything else. And you, you dick, are not bothered in the least.”

“No, but in your defense this is new to you.” Jack nudges his ankle with the tips of his toes.

“But not to you?” Jack laughs a little, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin on them.

“I got stuck here in the year of our Lord Eighteen hundred and sixty-nine. Not a banner century for reproductive responsibility on Earth anyway, and then me with my dates not quite right…well it’s not my first ride at the fair. Won’t even be my first time finding out after the fact.”

“Oh.” This is the kind of thing that’s going to take the most getting used to. Jack rising from the dead is almost sensible, certainly more so than the excuses he’d pass off for his ‘luck’ or lack of wounds, but the history that’s going to come with all that is a bit staggering. At least, Ianto rolls his eyes up and to the left as he does a quick bit of math in his head, one hundred and thirty-eight years worth. More than that actually since he’s not sure how old Jack was when it happened to him. “Well, um, how did that go?”

“Depends on how you look at it. To the best of my knowledge I’ve fathered fifteen children in almost two hundred years, six of whom lived to be adults which are extraordinary numbers actually when twelve of them were born before nineteen-ten. Three of the women I married, ‘seventy-five, not this one, the last one, nineteen oh seven, and fifty-eight. Most of them stayed with their mothers and I’d come around when I could, if she’d let me, until it started getting obvious I wasn’t changing.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” Jack sighs like he’s being silly, leaning forward to snatch the remote off the table and leaving his leg pressed tightly to Ianto’s as he flops back and flips the telly on low.

“You’re asking me about my children and not about any of your many options. You know what you want to do and if it gets there, you and I can discuss security clearance.”

“My sister is going to _kill_ me.” He picks up the phone and looks down at the round face filling his screen, trying to imagine how heavy he is, because he looks awfully solid.

“That, I cannot help you with.”

***

Jack is asleep on the couch, tucked under Ianto’s duvet in a ball when the phone rings. Ianto drops Jack’s wet tee shirt into the machine and sprints for the coffee table.

“Chy?”

“I cannot believe I have to do this two more times before I get to Cardiff.” She sounds exhausted and wrung out as Ianto turns off the lights shining down on Jack and slips into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed in the small pool of light from the bedside lamp. “I actually had to hire porters to make sure nothing got left behind. Indy’s a champ though. Nursed through take off, slept most the flight and is trying to get the attention of everyone who looks over now.”

“So he’s what, about four months old?”

“Yeah. Seventeen weeks tomorrow.” There’s more of that stilted silence that he’s never had with her before.

“How, uh, how are the dogs doing with the layover?” There’s a loose thread hanging from the hem of his pajamas that he can’t stop picking at.

“I shipped them no layovers with my normal people two days ago. They’re already in Cardiff at the kennel by now.” The baby is burbling and cooing and Cheyenne is saying something just off to the side that he doesn’t understand. He wonders if someone has stopped next to her to look at the baby. Rhiannon had that problem all the time with Mica. “Sorry, sorry. I love that you always ask about them but can we not talk about Lu and Beelz right now?”

“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say. I’m still mad about not knowing, but it’s kind of hard to argue with your reasons, even if I _really_ want to. I just…I could have done _something_ for him, or you.”

“Ianto, I was accessible only by helicopter for a year in two different hemispheres and never closer than a days flight to you. I had a midwife and a nurse on my teams from the moment I knew. He didn’t need anything except for me to stay well and _I_ didn’t need anything I didn’t get.”

“I could have at least helped pay for it. Something.”

"Ianto, you’re a bright guy. If you haven’t figured out I don’t need help paying for _anything_ by now I’m going to be awfully disappointed. I grew up in money, it’s almost obscene how much I’m being paid now, I invest well and should I ever have to touch it, James was insured.” And if SHIELD’s is anything like the insurance Torchwood provides it’s substantial. “I didn’t need your money, or even for you to be in Cardiff freaking out about me trekking on elephant back for two days or hiking mountains in Peru while pregnant.”

“Yeah, about that,”

“Don’t start Ianto, please. Like we’re not fighting about enough right now?” Her voice cracks.

“No, come on, don’t cry.” He won’t be able to take it if she does.

“I’m not crying! I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I keep making decisions that don’t look any better than the alternatives, I don’t know if I want to keep traveling for my work, not full time like this by myself with a baby and two dogs, and my nanny couldn’t leave the country with me because her mother got sick last week.”

“Cheyenne, for someone who travels as much as you do, you have the worst luck with it that I have ever heard of. Who was it last time?” Her laugh is thick and damp over the phone.

“Oh, god. Laura Jean. Laura Jean from Louisiana who thought she was going to be working in some library in Europe and ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere in Peru having an allergic reaction to her first kumquat. We had to take our helicopter and divert to Huanuao because we were closer than the Med-evac.”

“And you think _my_ life is crazy Chy?” And it is, really it is, this is the second time it’s five forty-five in the morning for him after all, but surely she can see the irony of it. Particularly since she doesn’t know he’s been involved in a temporal something tonight.

“Yes! Yes, even with the elephants, and tent cities that can only be reached by helicopter, and the jetsetting I _still_ think your life is crazy and frightening Ianto. I’m having a lot of issues with the fact that more than a year later I still don’t know where you work and what you do. It’s got me wary, and I still say it’s a _good_ reason. It just doesn’t feel good _enough_ anymore to justify not making the effort to tell you.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to tell me. I meant to tell you last time we spoke that Jack got back in town tonight.”

“He what? He’s okay right? Are _you_ okay darlin?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s okay and I don’t know if I am either. He left me and you lied to me, and both of you have really good reasonable reasons that you’ve both dumped on me tonight and I’m stuck with all these stupid feelings I’m not sure are appropriate anymore, but damned if they’re going anywhere.”

“Oh sweetheart, when you do drama you go big or go home, don’t you?”

“Apparently. Look, I want to pick you up at the airport. What time are you getting in?”

“Midnight, but you don’t have to do that. Someone’s bringing the dogs by and the place I rented is like fifteen minutes outside the city center out in Radyr. I’m just gonna rent a car and head straight there from the airport.”

“You’re going to be flying entirely too long with a baby to try and find your way around the suburbs in the middle of the night, and we both know you have a disgusting amount of baggage to be moved. Just let me do this Cheyenne.”

“Then yes, please, I’d love a ride because I have no fucking idea where Radyr is.”

“Wow, really Chy?” She snorts into the phone. 

“Maybe? I’m punchy, so feel free to question the validity of statements along that vein until I get back into the air and can get some sleep.”

“Yeah I…Jesus fucking Christ!” He fumbles the phone as a scream echoes out of his living room.

“Ianto, what the hell is that? Is that Jack?!” His elbow smacks off the foot board as he scrambles for the door.

“Yes!” Jack is sprawled half off the couch, limbs twisted and tangled in the comforter, back bowed uncomfortably as he shrieks and roars. “I’ve gotta…”

“Yeah, call me back when he’s okay.” He drops the phone on the entertainment center and moves wide around the coffee table.

“Jack! Jack, wake up!” There’s too much stuff in the way to try and dart in and wake him, he’ll trip over it trying to get back should Jack come up swinging. “Wake up!” Ianto strips off his socks, wadding them into a ball and looking doubtfully at them before jerking his tee shirt over his head and wrapping them in that as well, then chucking the weighty clump at Jack’s head. “Jack!”

The coffee table goes over with a crash as Jack startles awake and slides off the couch. The black and grey bedding is bunched up around his shoulders, slipping down over his head as Jack drags in a ragged panting breath and pitches forward. The sound of him being sick is muffled by the blanket when Ianto drops to his knees, crawling around the mess of empty bottles to stroke from the nape of Jack’s neck where it’s peeking out from the edge of the blanket down, rubbing his palm in small circles on Jack’s back.

“I’m all right. I’m all right.” Jack’s voice is a ragged whisper under the heavy fabric and Ianto isn’t sure if the man is speaking to him, or himself.

“Of course you are.” He reaches up slowly and drags the bedding off Jack’s head, dropping it over the mess since it’ll have to be washed anyway. “You’re fine.” Jack lifts one arm slowly and drags it across his mouth but makes no other move, remaining hunched and trembling on the floor dragging in too fast breaths. The man makes a move as if to shrug Ianto off when he wraps his arms around Jack before slumping against him, letting the Welshman card his fingers through the sweaty mop of his hair.

"It's like a cactus rotted and died in my mouth."

"Vomiting up Tequila tends to have that effect." Fine tremors are still occasionally skittering up and down Jack's arms, but his breathing has slowed to something deep and barely shuddering.

“Lemme up.” Ianto unknots his arms from around Jack, letting him stagger up and force his knees as straight as his back as he disappears into the bathroom, stripping his shirt off over his head as he goes. His shoulders are wider than Ianto’s, just enough that he wouldn’t fit into one of his tailored shirts, but he’s pretty sure there’s a hoodie or something in his closet that will fit. There is a big one in the back, but it’s heavy with the Umbrella logo on both sleeves, and Ianto digs past it and finds a black and grey chunky striped sweater from somewhere that’s so big he mostly just wears it when he’s sick. It comes off the shelf in the back and Ianto yanks out a faded black band tee shirt from his top drawer as well when he pulls one on himself, just in case he’d rather have that.

Every light in the flat is on when Ianto comes back into the main room. The duvet is gone and Jack is on his knees with a bowl of water and a rag washing away at the floor.

“Hey, you don’t have to do that.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve got it.” He doesn’t look up from where he’s scrubbing away at the floor and Ianto bites back a sigh and sets both tops at the foot of the couch before ducking into the storage room. The corner of the comforter is dangling over the edge of the washer and Ianto stuffs it in, shuffling the weight around and hoping he doesn’t put his hand in sick. The weight distributes evenly with no unfortunate touching of anything hot and wet and Ianto starts the washer and the dryer as well.

Jack is on the edge of the couch sipping at a something fizzy, his thumbs poked through the holes at the hem of the sleeves.

“I was surprised you still had my juice in the fridge.” It looks like a good idea and Ianto grabs a glass down from the cupboards, leaning into the fridge and grabbing the little bottle of cloud berry juice and the club soda.

“Yeah, no, new bottle actually. It kind of grew on me. Good thing too because Mrs. Lunn wouldn’t have been able to sell it to anyone else.” He tips the concentrate bottle up, filling a quarter of the glass before topping the rest with the club soda.

“It’s good.”

“It’s weird. I don’t know five people who know what a cloud berry is, and I know Tosh and she knows everything.”

“Good to see your strange mostly platonic crush on Tosh hasn’t disappeared.” He can’t stop himself from snorting as he leans into the fridge to put the bottles back.

“Our love is pure. And imaginary. It’s not a crush, I just happen to think that Tosh is fabulous, lovely, and entirely too wonderful to keep wasting her time on Owen.” He takes a drink and lets the strange sweet taste fizz over his tongue. “Who is a twat.”

“But who has first hand knowledge of how serious you will be when you tell him you can make him disappear if he hurts her.” The smile on Jack’s face is small but genuine as he chuckles.

“Damn right I’ll be serious. If he ever stops being the asshole who prefers random hook ups over Tosh. Tosh! She’s probably bendy.”

“Oh yeah, not a crush in the slightest.”

“You can shut up at any time now.” There’s still a trace of sick and pine cleaner in the air close to the couch. Ianto steps wide around it, nose wrinkled. The corners of the patch on his back are starting to lift up, pulling at his skin when he reaches up and cranks the skylight open. “All right, come on, the room needs fumigating.”

He’s never been so glad to have given in to the siren song of electronics. The wide screen plasma on the wall over his dresser makes Jack sitting on the edge of his bed less loaded. Ianto hands him the remote.

“I need to call Cheyenne back. She’ll want to know you’re okay, plus I’ve got the feeling she’s already trying to figure out how to weasel out of me driving her out to Radyr when she gets in.”

“What’s in Radyr?”

“Apparently a house she let for the month. She’s got a baby and two dogs, guess it curbs the options. I’ll be back.”

“And I’ll be watching infomercials.” Ianto leans into his closet and grabs the hooded sweatshirt he rejected earlier, sliding it over his head and grabbing his phone on the way out to the balcony. The sun is coming up over the buildings of the city, just starting to shade the sky yellow and blue.

Cheyenne picks up on the first ring.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. No, Jack’s fine just, you know how it can be.” He’s glad he grabbed the sweat shirt, but he wishes he’d thrown on some socks as well.

“I remember. Good. He’s okay then. Hand him the phone please.”

“What? Why?” This is not unusual either. He’d had plenty of times to get used to Cheyenne demanding to speak with Jack before Jack left, usually when she decided he needed a telling off, and he’s not sure how he feels about her doing it now.

“What do you mean why? I’d like to talk to him please and I don’t have his number.” Her voice is honestly confused and she sounds exhausted.

“I mean do you want to give him a telling off or what, because I‘m not sure he needs that right now.”

“Of course I’m gonna give him one, he deserves it. And he might lay right back into me, and I’ll just have to eat it because I’m grown enough to accept when I’m not right. Just let me talk to Jack please.”

“Fine.” His toes are numb anyway as he steps inside and closes the sliding glass door behind himself. “But I’m putting you on speaker and reserve the right to step in if I think it’s getting out of hand.”

“That’s because you’re a bit of a control freak Ianto Jones.”

“You always say that like it’s funny for some reason. Jack?” He sticks his head in the door and rolls his eyes at the man still watching the half hour long commercial for a pasta maker. “Jack, Cheyenne would like to speak with you.”

“Oh?” He lifts an eyebrow as Ianto just holds the phone up instead of handing it towards him, but sits up and raises his voice. “And am I in trouble with you too Ms. Morgan?”

“I don’t know Jack, are you hurt?” Her voice is soft and serious. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine. Really.” He moves his feet long enough for Ianto to sit down and then promptly digs them right back under his thighs.

“Then yeah, you’re in trouble with me, and you’re lucky I don’t have so much as one little hill of moral high ground to stand on or I’d be ripping you not one, not two, but three new ones. One for running out without a fucking _word_ , one for you not letting anyone know where you _were_ , and one for letting some of us think you were dead, sir. You really hurt people and it was fucking horse shit.”

“Oh, good thing you don’t have the moral high ground then.” Jack has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the phone. “You know you were wrong too, kiddo.”

“No, I don’t know that. I don’t think I was wrong at all. I’m not sure my decision was the _best_ for everyone, and lying to Ianto wasn’t right, but not wanting my kid tangled up in I- _literally_ -don’t-know-what? I’m not eating wrong for that from you Jack.”

“What if I point out you lied to me too?”

“I’d point out that I don’t even know your last name Jack.” Ianto winces because that’s not all Jack’s fault. Mostly, how little she knows about Jack is Ianto’s fault. It didn’t take her long to add Torchwood and Jack and get Harkness last time and it seemed a real enough worry that she’d make the same connection backwards. “Or your phone number, or a whole huge list of shit that I _do_ know about Ianto…what the fuck is your problem? Yeah, it’s exactly what it sounds like, now mind your own fucking business.”

“Woah! Who are you talking to?” He can feel the look of stupid confusion on his face, but at least it’s not as bad as the faintly scandalized look on Jack’s, who’s never heard her rip into her brothers or site crews.

“Someone’s newest working vacation with a hairstyle she can’t afford, mid priced knock off shoes, an off the rack suit, and a tablet computer she can’t _quite_ figure out how to work but her tits are worth the cost…that’s what I thought. Bye.”

“All right tiger, don’t take it out on someone’s secretary.”

“Well I have to be mad at someone, and if she wants to eavesdrop on the only conversation in the airport she can understand then she should do it with subtlety, and with at least the understanding that the nineteen year old in cheap clothes doesn’t have a lot of sneering room when all of first class saw her sitting on the lap of a sixty year old man wearing a wedding ring.”

“Cheyenne,” Ianto sighs and leans into the phone. “Stop before you make some strange girl cry.”

“I already did. She’s on her way to fix her makeup right now.” Jack has eyebrow cocked, even as he shakes his head and leans down, grabbing Ianto’s wrist and tilting the phone closer to him. “Damnit, I don’t even remember what I was saying now.”

“That’s because you’re exhausted. When’s the last time you slept?”

“I’ll sleep in the air and then make sure I have the right driving directions to Radyr when I land in Amsterdam…”

“Didn’t I tell you she was already trying to back out of it?” Jack snags the phone from his hands as Ianto throws them in the air.

“I thought about it, it doesn’t _work_ Ianto. Either we take your car, which isn’t big enough _anyway_ and Indy and I are stranded out there until I can call a car service, or you drive my rental out and you’re stuck here until I wake up.”

“Or Jack follows in my car and I ride back with him.”

“I’d like to see you Cheyenne, and him.” Jack runs his hands through his hair. “I’m not comfortable with you flying that long and then driving around in a new neighborhood in the middle of the night. Besides, you can sit down, get the baby settled, and we’ll get the bags in.”

“No! I can’t let myself count on that because what if another emergency comes up? Then I’ve let myself be exhausted, planned on help, _not_ called ahead to make sure things are arranged for one person alone, and then I’m stranded at the airport trying to make due because you’re both busy.” Jack grimaces and hits the mute button.

“How’s the rift been acting lately?”

“It’s been a son of a bitch since the elections. Two to three rift alerts a day on a slow day, at least three live incursions a week but that’s been slowing.”

“Shit.” Jack unmutes the phone with a jab. “Cheyenne, if we’re not there then a driver will be and a car will be waiting in the drive when you arrive. Give me the new address.”

“Fine.” Jack makes a scribbling gesture in the air and Ianto rolls his eyes, snatching the phone and opening a notepad. “It’s Ty Mynydd Lodge, Heol Isaf, Radyr, Cardiff. CF15 8AF.” Indiana, who’s been so quiet he must have been sleeping, makes his presence known loudly and suddenly. “Oooh, don’t cry sweetie, at least it’s not twelve hours down in Newark.” His shrill whine gets sharper. “Yes, mommy remembers Newark better than you sir and it surely was that bad. I’ve got to go, he needs…everything.”

“Call me from Amsterdam.” The line goes dead, still without any of the little sweet things she normally says at the end of a call and Ianto looks down at the phone and then up at Jack.

“So…I’ve got another six hours before I can sleep. Want to check out the house?”

“Yes.” Jack swings his legs off the bed quickly. “Let’s go.”

***

The neighborhood is nice. Big neat lawns, quiet, little hints of activity as families are getting their day started and no one seems to recognize the Torchwood SUV as Jack whips it into the drive.

“I remember when this house was part of the Dahl estates. Used to be the gatekeeper’s lodge.” Jack stands with his back blocking most of the view, giving Ianto time to palm his keys and slip the lock pick into the door working away at the dead bolt, his least favorite part of breaking and entering.

“Good morning!” The friendly shout from the edge of the street has him straightening so quickly he almost clips Jack’s chin with the top of his head. There’s a woman at the foot of the drive, her silver hair back in a long braid as she holds a Doberman firmly at heel. “Can I help you gentlemen?” Jack is smiling like he’s about to do his distracting song and dance so Ianto gives the lock pick one last jiggle and can’t believe his luck as the tumblers click into place.

“Morning!” He slides the thin metal tool back into his hoodie sleeve, letting his key ring dangle noisily as he waves back. “Nice neighborhood, huh?”

“It is. If you boys are looking at the house, I’m sorry but it’s already been let out.” The woman is eyeing them both suspiciously and it would be hilarious if it wasn’t strangely intimidating. Like being caught stealing sweets by your grandmother.

“No, I know. My girlfriend rented it. She’ll be getting in late, so we’re just making sure everything’s ready. Water on, light bulbs working, all of that.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you.” She smiles and the urge to make sure his ears are safe from twisting begins to fade. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

Jack is snickering under his breath as he pops the main lock and Ianto knocks the edge of his heel into the older man’s ankle while he smiles and waves at the woman rounding the corner.

“Stop laughing at me Jack.” The fact that he’s snapping the words out through a wide smile is only adding to the other’s amusement.

“Oh, she was ready to butt right in wasn’t she? I like her. She’s _feisty_.” The door swings open behind them. “Come on, let’s take a look.”

It’s huge. Ridiculously large for two people, one of whom cannot move on their own. Ianto wanders through five bedrooms, three of which have attached baths, a kitchen as long as his flat, a dining room that seats eight in really nice leather chairs, and a hedged in yard with a hot tub tucked over to the side.

“This is…really big.” He’s taking a slower walk through, flipping light switches and faucets as he goes. “Who lets a place this big for a month?”

“Someone used to it.”

“She lives in a tent most of the year. I’ve been on the phone with her while she tried to patch her walls with duct tape, how used to five bedrooms can she be?”

“We’ll have to break one of these beds down for her, help her get a cot up.” Jack’s got his hands in his pockets as he stares around the room. “Do you think she has one? Should we…”

“We’ve already broken into the place before she’s seen it Jack, I think that’s plenty creepy enough without running to Ikea and picking up one of those cheap ugly little baby jails they have.”

“There _is_ that stalker factor I hadn’t quite thought of yet. I must still be tired.” There are seven bulbs so far that need replacing and since he’s already broken in, he might as well do the repairs he said he was going to. “So, have you come to the conclusion you actually came to hours ago?”

“You mean that I’m exactly the kind of egotist who’ll try to have it all despite knowing precisely how this is likely to end? Yeah, yeah I have.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call you an egotist.”

“I would. I know the statistics on my life if I stay, but I don’t want to leave Torchwood. I don’t want to pick between you and her, I don’t want to pick between her and work. I am, in fact, looking at every fact I have and then choosing to ignore them all and insist it work out the way I want it to _because_ I want it to. I can think of no better definition.”

“You could be an optimist.” Jack leans in the closet and tries the light.

“I could also be an idiot. Guess I’ll find out.”

***

It’s a quarter to nine before Ianto rolls his face out of the pillow with a groan, hair sticking up around his head in clumps. He grabs the phone on his way to the bathroom, scrolling through his messages. Rhiannon’s texted to remind him of Mica’s play next weekend, Tosh has texted to demand updates on everything with two asterisks on either side of the word everything, and Gwen has sent him a gif of dancing penguins that says ‘Can’t sleep, going crazy’ in purple glitter graphics, so he calls her first.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Rhys. Hi, it’s Ianto. Is Gwen finally down then?” The other man laughs.

“Ah, you got penguin’d too, huh? Ianto, mate, do me a favor. Next time there’s a prick running you all around the city all night and you see her drinking her body weight in energy shots? Don’t let her sweet talk you into coffee on top of it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s the freckles, they’re hypnotizing.” Rhys laughs and Ianto can hear the football game on in the background.

“That’s enough out of you. I’ll tell her you called to check in.”

“Thanks man.”

Ianto showers while the coffee brews, and spends half an hour in his underwear picking through his closet with one hand, sipping at the mug in his other before cursing himself for wasting time when he has to be at the airport in two and a half hours.

He just really does not want to make this phone call. Dressing buys him another ten minutes, but he puts his ear piece in with a groan and begins straightening his cuffs.

“Call, Owen.”

The phone rings four times and Ianto is man enough to admit he’s got his fingers crossed that it goes to voicemail on the next ring. So of course Owen picks up.

“You’re interrupting season three of OZ on a day I’m not supposed to be on call and Tosh will be back with the food soon. Make it really good.”

“Tosh is still there?”

“Unlike the rest of us, Toshiko only got enough of a jolt to get her through the crisis at hand. Good thing I didn’t need real watching because she was asleep before the credits ran. If you called to chat I’m hanging up now.”

“No, I just…look, I’m calling cause you’re my damned GP and I need a blood test done.” There’s silence and for a moment Ianto dares to dream Owen’s going to be a professional about this without someone’s guts on the ground.

“Ianto, Ianto, Ianto, what did your uncle Owen say about sticking your dick in places that look like they might…” 

“Go to hell Owen.” So much for hope. 

“If Jack gave you some kind of space syphilis or time traveling crabs, I should let you know up front there’s only so much I can do with our technology.”

“I’ve never hated another human being the way I hate you sometimes Owen.” Ianto checks the clock above the door and pours another cup of coffee just to have something to do with his hands. 

“You know my day isn’t the same if you don’t tell me you hate me at least once. So, what do you really need?”

“A paternity test.” The thick sound that can only be made by a human being choking on beer is a small comfort.

“Sorry. Sorry, I hallucinated,” Owen gasps and sputters into the phone trying to clear his throat. “I thought you said you needed me to run a paternity test?”

“If there could be less dramatics about it, that would be excellent, thank you.” The twisting in his stomach won’t let him even consider drinking another cup of coffee right now, so Ianto pours his down the drain.

“So, that’s what you and Cheyenne were fighting about? I, yeah, I can do it sometime this week and then you and I can sit down and have a nice long conversation about how big boys stay out of this particular predicament.”

“Go fuck yourself Owen. There was an accident with her birth control _and_ her fall back when she was here, apparently.”

“Wait…definitely when she was here? You filthy little man whore. If you did what I think you did, your uncle Owen doesn’t know whether to be impressed or deeply _deeply_ disgusted with you.”

“I am going to do everything I can to get you fired Owen, I swear to god I am.”

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch Tea Boy. I told you, I’ll swing by and get it done sometime this week.” It’s a quarter to ten already and he still has to call Jack before Cheyenne gets into Amsterdam.

“You say so much as one stupid thing to Cheyenne…”

“Oh no, my mocking is _all_ held safely aside for you and Jack. I’ve fucked a quarter of Cardiff and you don’t see a single tiny Harper running around the streets, do you? No, because _I_ wrap my dick…”

“Good bye Owen. End Call.”

Calling Jack is much easier. He even picks up on the first ring.

“A sonic toothbrush that doesn’t work, a chunk of twisted inert metal the size of a picnic cooler, and half a strange bright pink fish today. You weren’t kidding about the rift being busy.”

“Nope. At least it was all mostly small.”

“I had to use a fork lift for the fish. It crushed a car when it landed and I think I still have scales in my hair.”

“Ah. Well, scales that size, at least you aren’t likely to miss them. How’s the rift projector looking?”

“Clear for the next eight to ten hours and then a blip small enough that I’m pretty sure we’re going to be looking at just a gaseous exchange.”

“Those are creepy Jack. One day one of those things is going to happen inside someone’s car. They’ll be driving to Tesco and suddenly all the air in their car will be replaced by the atmosphere of Jupiter.”

“No, it really won’t you _strange_ man. Do I need to sit you down with the chart again and explain why that doesn‘t work?”

“You’ll see. Jupiter in a Fiesta.” The quiet of his apartment is making his skin crawl. Ianto flips through the news, music videos, and what seems like a hundred different reality shows before trading his television for his stereo. “So, are you still coming to the airport?”

“Barring emergency, but I’ve got a car on standby just in case.” There’s a dull thudding from Jack’s end of the phone that makes Ianto think he’s wandering around the empty Hub dribbling the basketball and killing time the same as Ianto is.

“I never asked Jack. What are you going to do if Indiana is yours?”

“The same thing I always do. Leave it up to Cheyenne and keep a very careful eye on them regardless.”

“Because of your immortality?” Ianto flops down on the couch and watches the blades of the ceiling fan spin above him, the entire thing wobbling in it’s perpetual threat to come crashing down.

“I’ve never passed it on yet, hopefully I _can’t_ , but there are other things I keep an eye out for, antibodies for childhood illnesses I had that no one will for two thousand years popping up as a case of Vlaxtaran flu, stuff like that.”

“You really never made any of that stuff up, did you?”

“Nope. Don’t need to lie when life’s so weird. Awful thing Vlaxtaran, gives you jaundice and converts the bile to chlorophyll. I was violently green for three days.”

“Okay, _now_ I think you’re lying. You’re having far too much fun with this story.”

“Bright green, upon my honor.”

“I think I might be very quietly having a nervous breakdown because I keep staring at the clock and everything in my flat is getting on my nerves.” The remote is just out of reach. Ianto weighs the pros and cons of getting up before kicking his foot out and jerking the table closer to him, turning the music off with a frustrated jab of his thumb.

“Well, go kill some time. Call Owen, that should be distracting.”

“I already did, to set up the blood tests. He was a spectacular prick, even for him. Oh, and he says you have time traveling pubic lice.”

“That’s because Owen is a twat who needs a good kick in the ass. He’s ours though, heaven help us.” In the background Myfanwy calls and Jack curses loudly down the line. “You stupid thing, quit it! She’s grooming me, how do I call her off?”

“She missed you Jack. She called for you for weeks.” A deep breath helps keep in everything he wants to say about how awful the sound was, how lonely and heartbreaking it was to come into the Hub everyday for those first few weeks and be greeted by the sound of Myfanwy calling for her lost person.

“She’s a good girl. Go on you big brat, take it.” She’s got a bill full of chocolate if the sound she makes is any indication. “Now go play. Go on, go away.”

“You’re awful with animals Jack.” That’s it. He cannot lie on his couch for one more minute, just waiting for the clock to tick over to eleven fifteen so he can pick up Jack and start on his way to the airport. Ianto snatches his keys out of the bowl on the counter, shoving them in his pockets as he toes on his shoes. “I can’t do it. I’m thirty seconds from climbing the walls. I’m going to the store, I dunno, make sure she has milk and coffee and snacks or whatever the hell until she can get there herself.”

“Whatever keeps you from tearing your hair out.” Jack is thundering down a set of stairs loudly enough that Ianto can hear his footsteps ringing off the grating. “I’m going to feed the wildlife and start putting things into night mode. Call me when you’re done freaking out with your credit card.”

“I’m _not_ a stress shopper.” He is, a little. He’s also a stress cleaner, which tends to lead to bizarre midnight runs on bleach, pine scented cleaner, and bulk amounts of paper towels.

“Good bye Ianto.”


	3. Chapter 3

He’s in Asda, frozen next to the baby clothes and staring at how small they all are when his phone rings.

“Jones.”

“Hey, so we’ve been safe in the Netherlands for half an hour now, but someone has needed my attention.” Indiana is crying loudly almost directly into the phone and Cheyenne sounds done in.

“I was at home freaking out, so now I’m at Asda making sure you’ll have breakfast in the morning. Do I need to get baby food? Does he eat yet?” There’s baby food in the aisle next to the clothes. Rows and rows of mush in glass jars of every size and all of it completely foul looking and strangely color coded with red and blue arrows.

“No, he’s still nursing but we’re thinking about adding some real food soon, huh buddy? Some bananas maybe? Would that be good, because if you will stop crying mommy will buy you every banana on the planet, I swear to God I will.” That’s good enough for him. Ianto ducks around the tiny racks of tinier garments with fluffy animals on them and randomly starts grabbing tiny jars of banana mush with the youngest baby faces on them, round chubby heads with no teeth grinning up at him from the labels, wishing all the while he could remember what kind Rhi used to buy for her kids. He’s pretty sure one of them will taste all right though.

“He’s getting fussy?”

“Ha. He’s completely and utterly over flying. We’ve been in the air for seventeen hours and too many time zones. He’s a very tired little teddy, aren’t you?” She says something low and sweet and utterly foreign, a crooning stream of lyrical sounds before switching back to English mid thought. “Yes, we are. Very much past bedtime.”

“Do you have a car seat, or have you just been holding him the entire time?”

“Oh fuck, I forgot to tell the car rental place I needed a car seat. I don’t have one, the little jumper to Mumbai didn’t have seats wide enough so I didn’t fucking bother.”

“Stop. Breath. Don’t panic. I’m looking right at car seats.” Which are much easier to shop for than baby food. Baby food is either good, or it’s not but car seats have ratings guides and easily comparable charts on the side.

“I’ve lost my mind. What kind of mother forgets she needs a car seat to come back to civilization?”

“The kind who’s been wearing her kid strapped to her while riding elephants instead of cars.” He ignores the woman who pauses at the end of the aisle to look back at him curiously, focusing on his limited options. The pink seat is right out of the running, but the black and grey seat and the blue one with goofy little stuffed animals are apparently equally good. “How much does he weigh?”

“He’s a moose, man. He’s eighteen pounds and twenty-six inches.” Ianto grins and tips the black seat into his cart. “Ianto, you don’t need to do all this with the food and the car seats…”

“Why not? If you didn’t have Indiana, would you be objecting to me picking you up something to eat for when you got here?”

“No, but if I didn’t have Indy, I wouldn’t be not so quietly freaking out more and more with every landing and feeling worse and worse every time you do something generous and awesome instead of ripping me a new one.”

“I can’t do anything about you feeling guilty, but you traveling alone with a baby all day and most the night isn’t going to make me less likely to make sure things are ready when you get here. Just changes what I’m buying I suppose.” Now that he thinks about it he doubles back and flips through the selection of strange tiny sleeping bags that apparently serve as coats for infants under six months because Cardiff in September is definitely colder than India. The black with a smiley penguin face on the hood is the least offensive, but he’s not sure if it’s because the thing is _black_ or if Gwen’s text from earlier has just predisposed him to penguins for the day. “Do you want coffee or juice for when you get up?”

“Juice.” Her voice is small, almost lost over the grizzling complaints of the child she’s holding and the boarding announcements booming across the airport. “Shit, they’re boarding my flight early. I just…you’re entirely too good a guy for everyone to have fucked up on you at the same time Ianto.” He doesn’t ask her why they chose to fuck up so spectacularly then, because they had their reasons and there’s no changing it now. He’s just going to have to deal with it.

“I’ll see you when you land Cheyenne.”

***

The day aliens begin building their doomsday machines out of car seats Earth is seriously out of luck, because even with the instructions spread out on the back seat next to them it still takes two grown men fifteen minutes to figure out how to latch the seat down so that it doesn’t wiggle and then fumble it loose again.

He’s honestly disarmed _bombs_ faster than he installed this car seat.

“If the belts in the rental aren’t exactly like these then I’m going to have no idea what I’m doing all over again.” Stupid anchor straps. Jack snorts and smacks him on the shoulder.

“Ah, but if they’re the same then you’re going to look like a genius.” They’re abusing their privileges as Torchwood again. Jack has them parked under the lights in the closest fifteen minute unloading only spot and every time security tries to approach he’s pulled them to the side and sent them away with the explanation of Torchwood business. “There’s a kennel van, but those carriers look pretty big. I thought she had little rat sized things.” A kid in a dark blue polo with little paw prints all over it is very carefully manhandling two large crates onto a trolley.

“You’re thinking Shi tzus. She has Shar Peis.” Someone pauses too close to the crates and obviously his brain is trying too hard because it tries to convince him that he can recognize the rumbling bark that comes out as Lucifer. The girl who stopped to look scurries away into the airport, startled by the sound and Ianto lifts an eyebrow as Jack makes a subtle but definite move back closer to the car. “Jack, are you scared of dogs?”

“What? No. I’m not scared of _dogs_.” He’s fidgeting with his collar as they watch the kid in the kennel uniform wheel the trolley into the airport. “I just thought she’d have _small_ dogs. Yipping little rat things.” It’s a quarter till midnight and Ianto shoves his hands in his pockets so Jack can’t see them shake.

“We should head in there, she’ll be here soon.” He scowls because what good is shoving your shaking hands in your pockets when he all of a sudden sounds exactly as scared as he is. The urge to pull away when Jack wraps his arms around him is a brief confusing flash that’s gone quickly, letting him sag exhaustedly into the spicy wool embrace. “This is going to be a disaster and everything that can go wrong will.”

“It’s going to be fine.” The warm damp heat of Jack’s words tickle his ear as the other man leans in close, rubbing his jaw along the side of Ianto’s hair. “This is the worst part, the moment right before. She does not hate you, you didn’t imagine the connection, she will be very glad to see you, and you will neither drop nor squeeze the baby.” Ianto turns his head in surprise towards Jack who stays right where he is, dark blue eyes glinting with amusement as they stare at each other, close enough that the stirring air from the immortal’s words brush against his mouth leaving his lips tingling. “I told you, not my first time on this ride. At least she’s not sailing, that always took forever.” There are fingers toying with the tips of his hair, twisting and tugging at where it’s cut short at the nape of his neck. “I wanted to kiss you as soon as I saw you yesterday night, but I thought you might punch me in the face. Can I kiss you now, or is the urge to beat me into the ground still that strong?”

“No?” Honestly, there’s no urge to do anything other than strip Jack down and roll around on those long acres of pale golden skin when he’s this close and being deliberately distracting.

“No, I can’t kiss you hello, or no you won’t hit me?” Make that distracting and obnoxious.

“Be a risk taker. Find out.” Permission is obviously all Jack has been waiting on because he moves in like he means it, big hands cupping Ianto’s head and clever mouth licking and nipping his way into Ianto’s mouth. Contented little noises are rumbling through Jack’s chest as he takes his time remapping the sharp edges of what feels like every single one of Ianto’s teeth, kissing him like he’s being relearned or remembered. Like he was as missed as Jack says.

“You’re exactly what I remembered.” Jack’s words are a whispered reverence against his mouth, almost covered over by the roar of jet engines as one of the huge machines comes in for a landing over their heads. Ianto doesn’t know what to say that as Jack leans forward again, their mouths just a lightly brushing. “Come on, if that wasn’t her plane then the next one is.”

***

The kid from the kennels is holding a sign that says ‘Morgan’ in huge black letters, so they stand next to him. Jack keeps insisting he’s not bothered by the dogs’ growling echoing out from the blanket covered crates, but he’s being very careful to keep Ianto between himself and the hip high plastic boxes all the same.

“Not scared of dogs at all Jack?” There’s an uncomfortable flush staining the older man’s ears and the bridge of his nose.

“No, I’m not _scared_. I just have a healthy respect for them.” His breath is a huff as he leans in, breathing his words into the shell of Ianto’s ear. “We didn’t _have_ dogs where I come from. The first one I met on Earth bit me, and shortly after that I had an unfortunate incident with a pack of wolves in the Black Forest, okay?’

It’s, unfortunately, less funny when he puts it that way.

“Lucifer! Beelzebub! Bi Zui!” Both the kid from the kennel and Jack are watching him curiously as the growling is replaced with inquisitive whines. “Tang xia.” The dogs bump against the crate walls. “Tang Xia!”

“Mister, you are my hero.” The kid in the polo is staring at him in wide eyed relief as with audible huffs and thumps both dogs drop to the floor of their crates. “Stubborn things don’t wanna speak no English and the bloke who speaks Chinese couldn’t work tonight. How’d you know to do that?”

“We’re waiting for the owner and there are few things she says to these two quite as much as shut up and lay down. It got shouted in my ear enough that I picked it up.” There’s a glut of bodies pouring from the terminal off to his left. Men and women in wrinkled clothes and mussed hair spilling out of the plane and looking grateful to be there. “I think that’s her flight, actually. Excuse me.” He can’t see her in the crowd, but there’s something familiar about the curve of shoulder and curl of hair that keeps appearing and disappearing behind a remarkably tall blond man, drawing him closer to the lounge.  
It’s her.

Ianto has no idea how Cheyenne’s been making it through the airports alone. There’s a bag slung over her shoulder and resting on her hip, a rolling suitcase that must have met flight regulations by just ounces and centimeters being pulled behind her, and a sling tied tightly to her front that looks like it should be throwing her off balance in her heels. There’s disarray to her ponytail that says she’s been fidgeting with her hair over and over, wisps of hair in her face as she scans the lounge. A tiny fist pokes out the side of the sling, flailing angrily and drawing him like a magnet. He’s halfway across the floor, weaving in and out of people before she sees him and takes a step away from the crowd around her.

“Hey!” He’s not mad. The realization staggers him a bit, speeding his footsteps towards the woman trying to smile at him through trembling lips. He’s hurt still, a little confused, and very scared, Christ is he scared, but he’s not _mad_. Not now anyway with his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her against himself tight enough that he can feel the movements of the tiny body between them as he kisses the top of her head. “It’s _really_ good to see you again Chy.”

“You too sweetheart.” Her bag thumps against the floor, dropped so she can wrap her arm around his neck, squeezing tightly. “I have missed you more than I could have imagined, Ianto Jones.” She pulls away first, stroking the wiggling lump tied tightly to her and supported by her arm. “Do you want to see him?”

“Yeah. I really would.” The curve of an ear surrounded by a huge spill of black curls is the first thing he sees as Cheyenne peels back the edge of the embroidered red cloth, followed by the rounded swell of a tiny cheek. The rest of his face is turned against Cheyenne’s shoulder.

“Oh, now you want to be quiet and shy? Really mister? Come on fatty, wake up and say hello.” He’s going to say something about calling a baby ‘fatty’ because he’s pretty sure that’s how eating disorders happen, when the bundle in her arms turns it’s head up to the light, mouth wide in a tiny yawn before blinking slowly up and _looking at him_.

Dibs. He’s called it and it’s done. Indiana is looking up at him, like really looking, like he can _see_ Ianto and is taking his measure, eyes grayish-blue and so big, ringed all the way around with super thick lashes. He’s tempted to call Owen now and cancel the blood test because at this moment in time he is completely, irrationally, violently in love with the very tiny person looking up at him.

“He’s beautiful Chy. Jack, come look at him.” He looks over at the other man and feels whatever, probably dopey, expression that was on his face melt down into a half hearted scowl at the phone pointed in his direction. “Really Jack?”

“Jack!” Cheyenne is twisting around under the arm still resting around her back trying to get away from the lens. “I’ve been on a plane for entirely too long for you to take pictures of me.” Jack laughs and keeps filming even as Cheyenne tries to disappear behind the width of Ianto’s shoulders and shoot him quelling looks at the same time. “Quit it and come say hello, you obnoxious thing.”

“Hello kiddo.” The phone goes down but not away as Jack crosses the floor, squeezing her tight without shifting her away from Ianto. “All right, let’s have a look.” His eyes skim over her quickly and he nods almost to himself, leaning over her long enough to find a trailing edge of fabric and tug it, scooping Indiana out of his sling. “Come here, you.” He’s even bigger than Ianto thought. A solid bulky child whose skull fills Jack’s wide palm, limbs trying their best to jerk and kick and Jack tucking him along the length of his forearm as if he were perfectly still. “So, who’s ready to get going?”

Jack disappears off to the side as they work their way through customs, settling the baby in Ianto’s arms on his way.

“I’m gonna go check on baggage.” Cheyenne looks ridiculously grateful to be avoiding the crush near the claim. Ianto can only imagine how thrilled she be if she knew Jack is probably throwing his weight around to get them skipped through as much as possible. 

Fifteen minutes later he’s wishing he’d done the same thing to get them expedited as well as they make it out of customs to find Jack leaning on a trolley loaded absurdly high with trunks and bags parked next to the kid from the kennels.

“Seven strangers have apparently all stuck your name on their bags. Do you see the crazy amount of luggage your mummy has Indiana?” His turn holding the baby must be over because Jack nips him right back out of Ianto’s arms, cradling him against the wide expanse of his wool covered chest and bouncing him as he begin to fuss. “Hush Agent, Captain’s orders. I’m covered in buttons, chew on one.”

“If you could not encourage my kid to bite off things that are the perfect size to lodge in his throat that would be awesome.” At the sound of her voice the dogs begin whining and barking, the crates rocking as they scrabble against the doors. “Lu, Beelz! Hush.” She’s snapping out orders to the crates in a string of rapid Mandarin as she digs her wallet out of the bag across her hip, folding a small stack of bills with a quick move of her fingers and pressing it into the kid’s hand as she shakes it. “I know you guys don’t normally do overnight drop offs like this. I really appreciate you making the trip this late and waiting around.”

“Not a problem ma’am. Welcome to Cardiff.” 

“All right,” She wraps her hands around the trolley with the dogs. “Let’s go get my car before I decide that sleeping right here on the floor is a perfectly acceptable solution. Jack, do you want to trade?”

“No. No, why break up the bond between a boy and the shiny slobbery potential of brass buttons? Let’s go ladies and gentlemen, some of us have work in the morning.”

***

The belts in the rental are exactly like the belts in his car and Ianto does indeed look like a genius when he gets the new car seat snapped into the back before Cheyenne can dig two matching dog leads out of the bag between the crates on the trolley.

“All right, every body out. Time for rides. Rides with the baby! Who missed their baby?” She’s got the doors to the crates open before Ianto can stop her. 

He’s never seen Jack move so fast without something threatening to explode. One minute Ianto’s scrambling out of the car to tell Cheyenne not to let the dogs out yet and the next he’s jerked up onto the balls of his feet, head spinning as he tries to figure out how he got out of the back seat.

“Did you just yank me out of the back seat by my _shirt_ to use as a human shield?” 

“Maybe.” At least Jack can see the humor in the situation if the sound of his voice is anything to go by. “But I thought it was a better option than shooting them.”

“Yeah, they’re just…the very image of terror.” Ianto tilts his head down despite the slow tightening of his collar around his throat to look at the two medium sized dogs sitting at his feet, tails thumping the tarmac rhythmically as they tilt their wrinkled box shaped heads to the side.

“Haha. I don’t speak Chinese, just…tell them to get in the car.”

“I’m sure he’d love to if you weren’t slowly choking him.” A flash goes off from the trunk of the car, because being slowly strangled wasn’t awesome enough without flash spots in his eyes. “Lucifer, Beelzebub, get in.” The dogs move quickly, jumping into the vehicle and sitting eagerly on either side of the car seat; eyes trained on Jack, the baby in his arms, and Ianto, who’s been spun again to stay between the two parties, fingers digging into the collar of his sweater to keep it from twisting tighter. “Woah, hey it’s all right.” Cheyenne kicks the door shut as she squeezes between them, the backs of her knuckles brushing the nape of his neck as she untangles Jack’s death grip. “Why didn’t say you were scared of dogs? I would have put them right in the car instead of thinking it was funny they crept up on you.”

“First, I’m not scared of dogs. I _respect_ dogs. Second, those are not dogs, those are bear cubs. Wrinkled bear cubs, though that fluffy one might be a tiny lion. And why do they keep staring at me?”

“They aren’t. They’re staring at Indy, look.” She takes the baby from Jack’s arms, stepping away from the car and two doggy heads swivel to track her every step.

“They think he’s dinner.”

“They do not. They have slept one on either side of his bed since the day he was born and think the sun shines from his diaper. I’d put him in to show you, but if I don’t introduce you first they won’t let either of you near the car once he’s inside.”

“Good thing I already packed your car then because I’m not coming over there.” Jack crosses his arms over his chest, jaw set in that stubborn way of his and heaven help the planet if the rift ever drops dogs bent on world domination on top of Cardiff.

“They won’t let you in the house either Jack.”

“It’s one in the morning and we’re not even on the road yet. Jack, give me your bloody coat. Take it off.” Cheyenne is as quick as possible, keeping up a low soothing run of praise as she introduces both himself and Jack’s coat to the dogs before taking a deep breath and buckling the sleeping infant into his spot between them. Ianto’s not sure if he’s ever seen happier animals as Lucifer very carefully puts his huge fluffy black head on Indiana’s tiny lap, chubby legs disappearing under the huge mane of fur, Beelz twisting around until the little fist dangling over the edge of the seat rests on top of his head.

“All right, we’re good.”

“Thank God.” Jack jerks his arms back into his coat. “Let’s get going then.”

***

She falls asleep in the car before they clear downtown, twisted in the seat so that Ianto brushes her knee with the side of his hand every time he changes gears. The air is made of soft sounds; the spin of the tires on the road, Cheyenne and Indiana breathing in sympathetic rhythm, and the dogs huffing and grumbling in counterpoint. He keeps sneaking glances at her from the corner of his eye as they pass under street lights, watching the shadows slip across the angle of her cheek bones and the soft line of her jaw and can’t quite stop himself from thinking that if he can just figure out how, he can have this. Flicking his eyes up to the rear view he can see the headlights of his car behind them, Jack a shadowed outline of himself behind the wheel.

There’s going to be a trick to having everything and he’s going to find it.

***

“I think the next time Owen pisses me off, I’m going to have him hauling all of Cheyenne’s luggage.” Ianto leans against the trunk of the rental with a groan, looking over at Jack who stripped down to shirt sleeves after the second trip and down to his tee shirt two trips after that. “In fact, that’s the new official Torchwood punishment policy. Break the rules, move her shit.”

They’ve been moving boxes and trunks for an hour now, supervised only by the dogs flanking either end of the couch where Cheyenne sat down to nurse Indiana and fell asleep in the time it took them to bring in the groceries.

“I know. Jesus, if this is a month’s worth of stuff, what does more look like? And at _least_ two of those trunks were books.”

“Oh yeah.” Jack hops up on the back of the trunk. “At least. Big ones, tomes even.” They’re far enough out from the city that the stars are visible in the clear night sky if they look over the back of the house and away from downtown. 

“So, you’re really from out there then? You haven’t just been out there for some strange reason; you’re from the future of somewhere that isn’t Earth?”

“I am. Tenth generation native of a little colony planet of Earth’s a couple thousand years from now.”

“Was it beautiful?” It’s naive, but Ianto can’t clear his brain of images of fictional planets from movies and books. Places where things are monstrously large or strangely delicate, outlandishly colored and exotic.

“Parts of it were, at least holos of it were. Never saw them myself. I grew up on a little jut of land not much bigger than Madagascar where the deserts met the west shores of the Black ocean, called the Boeshane Peninsula.” Jack is stretched back onto his elbows, face tipped towards the sky and lined in starlight as he speaks.

“What was it like where you grew up? Was it a city?” The man laughs so hard the car shakes.

“Boeshane was a sandy little shit hole. What’s the name of that planet in Star Wars? The one with the tiny people in robes?”

“Tatooine?” Well, so much for the image of crazy underwater jungles on dry land. Jack snorts.

“Nerd. Yes, imagine Tatooine and stick one of _those_ little towns in the middle of it. One of the ones where no one ever leaves, you’ve known everyone there your entire life, and your parents work at whatever big thing they do, it was wind farms and fishing there, and when you grow up you’ll take the same job, get married and do it all again. _That’s_ what the Boe was. It was one of _those_ towns, on the edge of a desert where everyone worked on a wind farm or fished in a sea that took almost as much as it gave.”

“Oh. It sounds…awful. It sounds awful actually.” He can’t keep from laughing at the indignant look on Jack’s face that slides away almost instantly as the older man joins him in amusement.

“I don’t use the phrase ‘sandy little shit hole’ lightly.”

“Can you see it from Earth? Not your planet, obviously, but your sun?”

“Yes, actually, but only in the winter. Though…we might be close enough now. Come here.” His hands are warm despite being half dressed at past two in the morning in September as Jack reaches over and tugs Ianto into the space between his knees, one arm draped loosely around the younger man’s neck as he scans the skies. “There we go, just barely peeking out. How well do you know your stars?”

“If I’m sober I can find Orion seven times out of ten.”

“That’s just awful.” Jack sounds genuinely appalled despite laughing. “You will _never_ fly a ship of mine Ianto Jones. All right, here’s Orion.” He takes Ianto’s hand in his, twisting their fingers together and guiding Ianto’s hand up until his finger is directly below the middle star of the belt. “Now, if you turn East, all the way over here, you’ll see the Hydra. It’s pretty dim, the brightest one is actually a binary system. From the tail, it’s the second star south west.”

“Second star south west? You mean my right?” He’s punchy. A bit strung out and far to easily amused. “You’re from the second star to the right?”

“Huh, look at that. I guess I am.” Nothing about Jack twisting him around, mouth sliding over Ianto’s in a kiss takes him by surprise. It’s been lying between them like a promise he’s only just remembered making from the moment Jack started speaking about a town where the coast meets the desert. The kiss is not a surprise, but the way Jack touches him is; an almost too hard pressure where the tips of his fingers dig into the small of Ianto’s back and the arch of his shoulder blade, holding him just barely too tight. Not wanting to let go.

“Jack, I meant what I said earlier today…yesterday. I don’t want to choose between the two of you. My life is hard and it’ll probably be short and I don’t want to pick between things, between _people_ , that make me happy. That’s selfish, isn’t it? I mean, I know it is, but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“Are you asking for my opinion on the matter?”

“Well it does fundamentally change things if you’re, for every sane reason by the way, not on board with my genius and still completely unformed plan to get my way.” His fingers slip through Jack’s hair and the way he flutters his eyes, leaning into it like it’s the last kind touch in the universe makes Ianto very glad that there’s no way to touch whoever spent a year hurting Jack because he’s having a hard time thinking of a line he wouldn’t cross to hurt them back.

“No one does romantic drama quite the way the twenty-first century on Earth does.” Jack rolls his eyes. “You’re making this harder than it is. You used to call her from my bed. I know she’s allergic to nori, she likes to tell me I’m an idiot,” Jack’s knees squeeze him as the older man leans forward, lips brushing along the line of his jaw to the shell of his ear. “Ianto, she called you when I had you spread out on my desk with your ankles around my ears and you put her on hold until we were done and she stayed on the line.”

“That might have something to do with the fact that I actually put us on speaker, apparently.” Excellent mistake to make though. His ears still burn a bit if he thinks about it too long.

“See? There have been three of us in this for a very long time. The only thing that’s going to get in your way is the two of you.”

***

Cheyenne is still asleep on the couch curled loosely around Indiana who is awake but quiet, staring raptly at Lucifer’s bushy black tail sweeping across the floor as he gnaws intently on his fist, round faced scrunched tight in concentration.

“He’s up all by himself.” Ianto’s got his jacket half on, stalled in the door way looking into the large living room. “He can’t do anything, right? I mean, she’s got a pretty good grip on him and he’s hardly going to go anywhere, but should I wake her up? I don’t think I can leave knowing he’s awake and alone and Cheyenne had a nanny before this…”

“He’s not awake by himself. He’s watching the dog and the dog’s watching him.” Jack comes up behind him fingers busy fastening the cuff on his shirt. “Why don’t you stay? I’ll head back, grab Owen as soon as he comes in so he can get the blood and let the girls monitor the Hub until we get back in town, ten at the latest.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be inviting me to stay at other people’s homes.” He wants to though. The dogs are staring at both he and Jack now, attention grabbed by their voices. There’s nothing distinctly unfriendly about the way the pair are watching exactly. Their ears are up, and neither of them looks aggressive, but they’re suddenly very much on alert, eyes locked on the men and tails still. “Besides, I have the suspicion that they wouldn’t take kindly to anyone trying to touch Chy _or_ Indy right now.”

“That would be a very good deduction.” Cheyenne hasn’t so much as opened her eyes, has actually sunk further down into the couch and is stroking the baby’s back in slow circles. “These aren’t just pets guys, they’re really well trained. They’d let you pick him up but taking a step away from me after that would be a very bad idea.” Now she opens one eye slowly, her mouth curving up gently. “How long was I asleep?”

“Little more than an hour. We got your car unpacked.” Indiana starts cooing and burbling around the slobbery side of his hand, chubby legs jerking in a froggy little kick.

“Oh, you guys didn’t have to let me sleep and do all of that. I was just going to get to it in the morning. Jesus, it has to be almost three by now. I can’t ask you guys to drive back to town this time of night. I’ve got five bedrooms, go pick one. They’re supposed to all be made up, so take one.” Her eyes flutter shut again, as if being awake it just too much effort. “Not the one with the leather foot board and the chandelier though, that’s mine if I can get off the couch and upstairs to it.”

“That’s really considerate of you Cheyenne but…”

“Shut up Jack. It’s three in the fucking morning, I’ve been up too long, my tits are killing me, and you two stayed up all night to get me here and move my shit. Go. Find. A. Bed.”

“I’m sure I’d be frightened if you could open your eyes.” He looks thoughtful though. Thoughtful and a bit tired as he looks at his wrist strap, linked into the Hub’s mainframe.

“If I have to open my eyes Jack, I’m going to take it very personally. Ianto, darling, dear heart, make him go to bed please.”

“I can’t. I’m not…I’m not sleeping well and it’s probably best I just go.”

“Jack.” She forces herself up into a sitting position, scrubbing at her eyes with the heel of the hand not bouncing Indiana. “I don’t _care_. It won’t be a new experience for me, unfortunately.” It wouldn’t be, Ianto hasn’t heard of anyone who’s been in his line of work for more than a couple months who doesn’t occasionally wake up screaming. Night terrors are part of the package and after five _years_ of service with SHIELD Ianto knows her husband most certainly had his share. “Please guys, I’ll worry if you go.”

“I’ll wake the baby.”

“He learnt to sleep through tigers roaring, monkeys screeching, and elephants calling. You wake him up, I’ll feed him and he’ll go back to bed. There, that was your last excuse. Let’s go, it’s bed time.” Cheyenne pushes herself to her feet and Ianto is across the room at a sprint when she sways, one arm hooked around her waist the other pressing the baby to her.

“Yes, it is officially bedtime. Jack, I can’t leave her here alone. We’re clear for the night, you said so yourself, and everyone else is right there if there’s an emergency. It’s just for a couple of hours and quite frankly, I‘m tired.”

“I…fine. It’s fine, we‘ll stay.”

***

Cheyenne points them in the direction of a black and white room at the head of the stairs mostly, Ianto’s sure, because it’s the first one she sees before disappearing into the only door on the left with the dogs on her heels.

It’s a nice room, Ianto’s favorite actually from the impromptu tour he and Jack gave themselves this morning. It’s got the same kind of leather padded sleigh bed as the master suite with three fabric covered back panels on the wall behind it. It’s freshly made and looks warm, inviting, and isn’t going to give two men their size very much room at all.

Shit. He should have just gone in a different room. He can’t go now, it would be weird. Weird and rude, particularly since Jack didn’t want to stay in the first place. You couldn’t tell now though since he’s not wasting any time, coat already folded on the long bench running the length of the picture window and Jack sitting next to it toeing off his shoes.

Which leaves Ianto standing in the doorway like an idiot.

There’s a chair in the corner and Ianto drops into it to unlace his shoes, trying to ignore the fact that every time he looks up Jack is watching him from under the fringe of his hair.

They’d been doing so well too, and now it all feels awkward. Particularly when Jack stands up and begins sliding his suspenders off his arms.

Right. He’s now, officially, tucking tail and running.

“I’m going to go make sure Chy got the baby settled. I’ll be back.”

There’s light coming under the door to her room when Ianto steps out into the dark hall. Ianto pads slowly across the hardwood floor to just stand in front of the closed door, his hands in his pockets. Maybe he’ll just stand here for a few minutes, long enough for Jack to get settled and slip down the stairs. That couch looked pretty comfortable when Cheyenne was sleeping on it.

“I know you’re lurking out there, the dogs are telling on you. Come on in.” He pushes the door open slowly. Cheyenne is sitting cross-legged on the bed in a short blue gown, both dogs sprawled across the foot as she nurses Indiana.

“Sorry, I just thought I’d…actually, I have no idea why I’m doing a creepy lurking thing outside your room. Sorry.”

“No problem. Someone was hungry again since we fell asleep half way through last time.” She grimaces a bit and adjusts her hold on the baby. “Right, that’s it for you, it’s formula from now on now that we’re back within convenient distance of clean water and a grocery store.”

“You don’t like it?” Rhiannon never seemed to mind nursing her kids. She always looked a bit serene actually, not at all like the uncomfortable scowl on Cheyenne’s face. “I thought it was, I don’t know, a comforting bonding experience.”

“Honestly? Hate it. It’s slobbery, uncomfortable, and my chest always hurts. I’ve talked to everyone. Doulas, midwives, nurses…I’m doing it right. I just hate it, so bottles starting tomorrow. Do you want to come sit down?”

“You know we have to talk right? A big one, as in a ‘too-big-to-properly-appreciate-at-three-am’ kind of talk.” He crosses the carpet to perch on the end of the bed, lifting his arm absently as Lucifer tries to butt his shaggy black head under Ianto’s elbow.

“Yeah, I did get that.” She bites the bottom of her lip. “Because you know that goes both ways, right? There are a _lot_ of things that I’ve let slide that I need answered from you and Jack.” Her hair is down, tumbled around her face and Indiana is grabbing at one long curl, trying to get his fist around it without pulling away from his meal. “Sorry, by the way. My brain wasn’t quite up to speed in the hall, I didn’t even ask if you wanted your own rooms. You know you can help yourself right?”

“No, because then I’m running away. It’s fine.”

“Which is why you’re in here procrastinating instead of going to bed?” There’s a small wet sound of suction being broken and Cheyenne snickers as Ianto averts his eyes, looking out the window with red ears as she readjusts her clothes. “You’re not picking _now_ to be shy are you darlin, because that would be cuter then I have words for.”

“I’m not taking any flack about anything from the woman who named her kid Indiana.”

“That is unlucky _coincidence_ that your name is Jones because I picked the name Indiana when I was eight, thank you very much. Also, I have endured an obscene amount of crap from my family about the name for the same damn reason ever since Smith popped off at his fat mouth and told them your last name, because for some reason it’s skipping over everyone’s head that his name is actually Indiana _Morgan_.” She smiles to take the sting out of the words and then frowns as both dogs prick their ears up, jostling Ianto roughly as they come to alert, eyes fixed on the door. “Jack’s trying to sneak out. Go get him. If we’re all going to not sleep when we should, we can all do it in here.”

Jack is halfway down the stairs, shoes in hand, as Ianto leans over the balcony railing to look at him.

“Carrying your shoes doesn’t help when there are dogs telling on you. Actually, does carrying your shoes really make that much of a difference Jack? You’re pretty quiet all on your own.”

“On hardwood floors? Every little bit helps. Never tried it?” He’s looking at the open door over Ianto’s shoulder, devil-may-care smile plastered on a bit too insincerely.

“I’m the stay for breakfast kind myself. Come on, I’m making fun of Cheyenne for her naming choice, you can help.”

“You cannot help, his name is Morgan and there is nothing wrong with it!” Jack’s grin becomes a little more real as she shouts from inside the bedroom. 

“Come back up. Please, Jack. I can’t…I told you I had a lot going on. I told you that you’d need to be willing to work for it. Are you? Because if you are, this is a really good way to show it.”

***

“So we’re at the monsoon camp, up in the high ground and really we should have left a week before just to be cautious, but the doctors, the midwives, everyone is telling me the next time I step on the chopper that’s it. I’m grounded from the time we land until I pass my post partum. So I stalled the exodus back to civilization because I still have three weeks to go and I want to get as much work done on site where I can send my minions into the field as I need them. Well the rains come early, but we’re still fine because the short wave says we’re looking at a hard day and night and we’ll have clear skies for two days. Plenty of time to get everything broken down and moved out.”

They’re all settled across the king sized bed, picking at the pile of junk food in the center. Cheyenne is gesturing with a candy bar as she speaks, eyes bright with amusement as she tells her tale.

“So it’s bucketing out. You’ve never really been caught in a rain storm until you’ve been caught in one of these. There’s a reason they’re called ‘bursting rains’ because it sounds like some asshole is dumping the entire ocean on your shitty little shack. It’s raining so hard I can’t see out of my door, my back is killing me, and my dogs who have never flinched at a thunderstorm in their lives are freaking out.”

“You did not.” Jack stalls his soda half way to his mouth to laugh. “Cheyenne, really?”

“I did, no kidding. I went into labor in the middle of the jungle at a monsoon camp. No hospital, no drugs. I did, however, have the camp medic and a midwife, both of whom talked copious amounts of shit to me about how we should have left the week before, between attempts to convince a helicopter to take off in that weather for an emergency air lift. Air evac won’t fly because I’m in early labor with no signs of distress and it’s ridiculous outside, my doctor is freaking out because we’re only twenty minutes by air to the nearest village, but we’re an hour and a half by air to the nearest big hospital and if something goes wrong it’ll take too long, and I’m just pacing around the hut, stalled at this point by some drugs running into me from a pole that only gives me a ten foot leash. My dogs are howling where they’ve been locked in my assistant’s hut and _nothing happens_. For ten more hours it rains and no one is taking off from anywhere and I’m starting to freak out because I’ve been doing this for what feels like forever but everyone keeps telling me I haven’t even _started_ and no one will feed me.”

“What?” Ianto stops with his hand in the crisp bag. “Why?”

“Fucked if I know. They told me like, seven times but I hated the answer so much I think I repressed it. It was stupid anyway. So finally, thirteen hours after I start, the rain breaks and the hospital sends out the rescue team. Everyone goes off high alert at the camp and while they’re distracted I manage to convince my assistant to smuggle me in some food. I kid you not, I eat and an hour later, there he is. He was almost an hour old by the time the helicopter landed.” Ianto follows her gaze over to the bassinet fetched from the living room and set up across the room in the darkest corner of the sitting area, flanked by two sleeping canines.

“That’s insane, you know that right? Who on the planet has babies like that?” Ianto jerks his ankle out of reach of her kick, and adds insult to injury by reaching in and snatching the last cookie.

“Apparently I do, cookie thief. I’m a nursing mother you know, I need the extra cookies.” He rolls his eyes but snaps the cookie into thirds and tosses them over to the other two. Jack shoves the entire thing in his mouth while Cheyenne nibbles at hers, flicking her eyes between himself and Jack. “So, and this is not me chasing you out, aren’t you two going to be falling asleep at your desks in a few hours?”

“Nah.” Jack is stretched flat on his back along the foot of the bed, head pillowed on his arm and bare feet on the floor. “We’ve done more on less sleep than this. Tell me more about how you had a baby in the middle of a monsoon in a jungle and then _didn’t_ name him Indiana Jones.”

“You are such a dick, Jack.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, double chapters back to back to make up for the fact that there won't be anymore of this until after the 10th due to deadlines for fests. Everyone blow kisses to czarina_kitty for awesome beta-ness on the turnaround time.

Ianto wakes slowly, feeling more tired than he did before they all started nodding off in the middle of sentences with a cold wet nose nudging his ankle and far more limbs than he possesses resting on his body.

“Son of a bitch.” One of the dogs is still shoving at his bare feet and he’s not entirely sure how he ended up with Jack’s entire right side pinning him flat and Cheyenne with her head on his stomach and her toes tucked under his calves, but he definitely knows he’s not getting out of the tangle of bodies without waking everyone else. “Stop! You’re not my dog, wake up Cheyenne if you have to pee.” He’s half asleep again, problem of cold dog noses solved by kicking until the blankets flip up over his feet, when he hears the sound that most likely woke the sharp eared dogs. Two different and faint but insistent buzzing sounds from the pile of jackets tossed in the only chair half way across the room. Haltingly his brain tries to make the connection between bright sunlight coming in across the head of the bed, two buzzing phones, and the building level of anxiety that keeps trying to force his eyes open before it comes to him in a sudden burst that has him diving out of the bed and scrambling for his jacket and Jack’s great coat. Behind him Cheyenne is upright and cursing, hair tangled in her face as she snaps her head from the door to the bassinet, and Jack is already on his feet, hand out to catch the phone Ianto lobs across the room even as he checks his own display.

It’s two after ten and he at least, has seven missed calls and another one coming in from Tosh.

“Is everything all right?” He holds up a hand to stall Cheyenne’s open mouth, vaguely registering Jack barking out the same question.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Tosh sounds far more relieved than annoyed or, heaven forbid, panicked. “I don’t think you’ve ever been late before Ianto, you had me a little worried when you didn’t pick up at your house.” Definitely not an emergency then, not if Tosh is taking time to make small talk. From the grimace on Jack’s face, he’s not getting nearly the same treatment.

“Sorry, I’m not at home. I’m uh, I’m out in Radyr and I will be there in…” He checks his watch. “Twenty to twenty-five minutes.”

“Gwen, I’m on my way, it’s not the end of the world! I promise, that looks _completely_ different than this.” Jack’s shout startles a wail out of Indiana that has both men scrambling to cover the mouth pieces of their phones and the immortal man trying to dance back out of the way of an elbow aimed at his side from Cheyenne as she squeezes past him to scoop the baby out of his bassinet.

“Ah, well, I suppose that answers the question of what’s in Radyr. Kind of. Bring me coffee, a muffin, and pictures and no one gets hurt. Also, Gwen has just spotted Owen looking shifty, so if he knows anything, you may want to hurry, because she’s got that look in her eyes.”

“Yeah," Jack shoves his phone in his pocket with a curse. “I’ve just gotten that impression. Stall her. Stall her and the bribe will be stupendous because if she hears about it from Owen instead of me she’ll have my head and then she’ll call my sister and tell her too.”

“My price will be steep. Be warned.” Tosh hangs up on her end, leaving him to shove his phone in his jeans and dive onto his stomach, arms sweeping under the edge of the bed. 

“Shit, we’ve got to go. Like, _now_ because we are very very late and I cannot find my goddamned trainers.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that the boss isn’t bothered.” Except he obviously is, jerking his hands through his hair as Jack tries to straighten it into something slightly more presentable. “Your shoes are in the other bedroom.” He sprints down the hall into the black and white room, ducking into the en-suite to take care of pressing business. He splashes some water on his face as he washes his hands and runs a quick sniff test on himself before deciding he’ll make it long enough to get to the showers and spare clothes in his locker as long as no one gets too close.

By the time he’s made it back to the bedroom Jack is leaning fully dressed against the foot board of the bed next to Cheyenne who‘s nursing again with that same grossed out look on her face, his thumbs flying over the touch screen of Cheyenne’s phone.

“There you go. If you need anything and can’t get Ianto, that’s my number on top. The second one is emergencies only. Missing limbs, mole men in the garden kind of emergency.”

“Get a lot of mole men in Wales, huh?” Jack winks at her and ruffles her hair and then Indiana’s.

“Life is a strange thing. I’m going to get Owen to take what he needs for the blood test today, if all goes well. I’ll call to let you know. Ianto, I’ll be in the car. Make it quick.”

“So,” Ianto watches Jack disappear out the door, thundering down the stairs. “I’m going to talk to Jack today, about talking to you.” Cheyenne watches him from the corner of her eye, lips tight.

“I’m starting to think ‘security clearance’ are the two most awful words in the English language.”

“Yeah, well it is what it is Cheyenne. I’m not sorry about what I do and who I am.” He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, frowning at the floor as she groans.

“I’m not asking you to be, dork. I’m just resigning myself to hearing you say something that I might not want to hear. I’m mentally putting on my big girl panties, okay? It’s a process.”

“You are the weirdest woman I have ever met, and I know some weird ones. I’ve got to go.” He wavers in the doorway for a moment before striding across the floor and cradling her face in his hands and pressing his mouth to hers. She sways into him, lips opening under his for a kiss that’s entirely too short before Cheyenne yanks backwards with a yelp.

“He bit me again! Indiana Alexander Morgan you are a mean little man this morning. Well, we’ll be downtown today, I need to do a lot of shopping and there’s help to be hired and utilities to be turned on. Call me when you’re off and if we’re still in town, we’ll stop by your apartment.” Out in the drive Jack honks the horn twice. “You’re late, remember?”

“Yeah. I’ll call, or something…”

“Stop being awkward and get going; we’ve got plenty of time to be awkward later.”

Jack waits until they get out of the neighborhood to hit the running lights and press the gas pedal down, tearing down the M4 at speeds that normally have the older man flinching when Ianto is the one behind the wheel.

“Tosh demands a muffin and coffee and in return she’s going to keep Gwen from cornering Owen and finding out she’s the only one who doesn’t know about Indiana.”

“Ah. A bribe well worth paying. We’ll swing round your usual spot?”

“No, they uh, they closed down Jack. They were in the path Abaddon walked out of the city. Everyone was inside.” The owner, her husband, and the nurse daughter she kept trying to set him up with. “I go to Sands now, out by my house.”

“Oh.” Jack’s face is solemn. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well you wouldn’t, would you Jack? You weren’t here.”

***

He can hear Gwen shouting over the sirens of the Hub door as it rolls open.

“We haven’t had _enough_ of secrets then? You tell me what’s going right _now_ Owen Harper because Jack hasn’t been back three bloody days and I will not have things start falling apart around our ears because of it!”

“Oh, and that’s my cue.” Jack squawks indignantly as Ianto grabs the pastry bag out of his hand and snatches the phone from his pocket, sprinting through the rolling door and skidding around the corner to the work spaces. “Just because you’re not allowed to touch the machine doesn’t mean you should all be standing around snarling at each other like under caffeinated wild things. Owen, Tosh.” They take their coffee’s quickly with greedy hands, Owen wandering off with a low grumbling in his throat and a doughnut clenched between his teeth and Tosh watching him with an expectantly cocked eyebrow as she sips. “Come with me please Gwen?”

“In a minute Ianto, I’d like to talk to Jack first.” He steps in front of her as she tries to make her way to the stairs Jack is disappearing up, catching her arm in one hand and shoving a bag with a crème puff swan in it at her.

“No, I need you to take your swan and your coffee and come with _me_ please. I need to talk to you and get changed, two birds, one stone, off we go. Tosh, my phone is coming with me…”

“Oh! Right behind you.” Gwen lets him steer her by the elbow to the changing rooms, before peering into the bakery bag distrustfully as he shucks himself out of his slept in sweater and tosses it into the bottom of his locker in a ball, yanking out the garment bag hanging on the wall.

“All right Ianto Jones, you’re late, but not late enough to be bringing out the big guns. You know these are my favorite, what did you do?” Tosh is enjoying this entirely too much, watching him with bright eyes over the triple chocolate muffin she’s picking the top off of in tiny bites.

“Ha, that is a funny story that I will tell you as soon as I am in the shower where you won’t be following. You take this, Tosh, you take Jack’s and just know that _anything_ could be on there so you look past last night at your own risk.”

“This sounds a bit kinky in ways I’m not sure I want to be associated with.” Gwen giggles even as she takes the phone from his hand, bouncing her eyebrows comically at Toshiko.

“You have a filthy mind Gwen Cooper.”

He uses the banter to escape around the corner to the showers, stripping down quickly and ducking in the first stall as Gwen stands just out of sight around the corner and complains.

“Not that you aren’t tall, dark, and handsome pet, but why exactly am I down here not watching you shower instead of giving Jack a bollocking about setting the Hub on remote to run out last night and coming in late with no warning. We thought he’d fucked off again, frankly.” 

“No, no it’s my fault he’s in late. He gave me a ride to the airport to pick up Cheyenne so I could drive her rental out to Radyr and we fell asleep at hers catching up. We had a lot to talk about.” He turns the water on hot and yells over the sound. “Look, just go in my inbox. It’s the first message on the top!”

He’s wrong about Gwen not being willing to follow him into the showers. The curtain is ripped back and he absolutely does not shriek like a little girl as he snatches it out of her hands and tugs it around his hips.

“What the _fuck_ , Gwen?!”

“What is this?” Oh God, that is _exactly_ how Rhiannon is going to sound, furious, hurt, and a little bit in love with the picture being waved in his face.

“Hello, in the shower, thanks very much!”

“I’ve seen it before Ianto Jones, most likely when you were busy doing _this_!” The phone comes perilously close to the spray as she shakes it at him. “You…why didn’t you say anything?” Her face threatens to crumple into something wounded.

“Look at the date Gwen. Hell, look at the one before that one if you want to. I just found out, my hand to God. Can I maybe not be naked and soapy with you staring at me for the rest of the conversation, because it seems like an unfair advantage.” The look she gives him could curdle milk, but she steps back out of the tiled stall and lets him pull the black plastic shut again.

“Start talking. What, how, and why on God’s green Earth weren’t you taking precautions? You’re old enough to know better Ianto Jones.”

“Yeah, as I’m sure I’m going to be told by everyone.” He rolls his eyes and starts scrubbing shampoo into his hair. “Your answers in order are as follows; when she was here, the usual way,” If the usual way involves three people. “And she was.” Not that he would have known at the time. He’d never bothered discussing it, too busy spiraling out of control to even consider the consequences of his actions, and watching Cheyenne take a little pink pill with her lunch the day before she left had been both a relief and an unpleasant reminder of how reckless he’d been. The snide lecture from Owen when he made a big production of doing Ianto’s blood tests hadn’t been fun either. “Something went wrong.”

“Wait, was she taking an oral contraceptive?” Fantastic, now Tosh is standing outside the shower too instead of being distracted by baby pictures and wandering off to return Jack’s phone to him as Ianto had hoped.

“Why?” He doesn’t like the way she asks, the tone of dawning dismay with a trace of wry humor in her voice. “Wait, hold on, don’t answer yet.” He shoves his head under the spout, rinsing his hair as fast as possible. “Okay, why Tosh?”

“Um, because it’s one of the first things Owen told me about Retcon. Did he tell you Gwen?”

“Oh my God, he _did_.” Now Gwen sounds horrified too. Not the reaction he was hoping for. “About Retcon and drug interactions. Bloody Owen’s the one who got your girlfriend pregnant with his stupid misogynistic belief that only women need to worry about this shit. Retcon’s apparently worse than grapefruit juice and antibiotics together. It can make your birth control ineffective for seventy-two hours. It’s the first thing he told _us_ about it anyway. If we had cause to think we’ve taken a dose, use back up for the next three days.”

They’re both staring at him with sympathetic grimaces when he rips the curtain back, tucking a towel around his hips as he stomps towards his clothes with a scowl on his face.

“Are you two serious? Of course you’re serious. I might shoot him, fair warning.” Gwen nods sympathetically and sips at her coffee. “At least turn around if you’re not going to go back around the corner.”

“Sorry.” They _actually_ turn their back instead of ducking back into the main locker room so Ianto disappears into the closest dry stall long enough to throw on his spare pants and walks out still fastening his suit trousers to grab up the rest of his clothes and head back to the main locker room, both girls following along behind him. “So, you’re not actually going to shoot Owen are you, because you look a tad too serious for my comfort.” Tosh watches him over the top of her glasses as she sits cross legged on a bench, Jack’s phone in her hand. “Also, you’ve got me nervous about checking Jack’s memory card now, so bring them up.”

“I am completely serious about shooting Owen.” He takes the phone from her and finds that Jack seems to have been busy while Ianto was in the bakery because there’s a subfolder in his pictures titled ‘I&I’ that is hopefully Ianto and Indiana and not something involving Jack and a mirror, but now that he’s had the thought he has to open the folder to be sure before passing it back to Tosh. “Retcon can get you pregnant is pretty vital information. There’s a kid in Radyr right _now_ because I didn’t know that. I only know about him because Chy had to come to town and if I don’t come up with the most involved song and dance known to man I might not see him again after she leaves, so yes, I am most _assuredly_ shooting Owen once the blood tests are done.”

“What blood tests?” This is why he adores Tosh. Because she took the same sentence Gwen just heard, put one and one, (and one) together to get her answer and is a bit red but obviously trying not to go there. Unlike Gwen who is leaning over his shoulder as he buttons his cuffs and threads his tie through his collar.

“Gwen, I have been doing a verbal walk of shame ever since I found out Cheyenne was coming back into town. Don’t make me say it out loud.” At least he gets the pleasure of watching the reflection of her face go suddenly, violently red over his shoulder.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” He tightens the knot on his tie and fusses with the hang of his suit, trying to ignore the creeping grin on Gwen’s face as she reaches forward, cupping his face with her hands.

“Jack is a bad influence because you were such a nice _sweet_ boy.” Ianto scowls as she shakes his head for him, cooing obnoxiously before stopping with an amused snort. “Besides, if Jack’s that baby’s father than I’m the bloody queen. He looks just like you.”

“Yeah, well we still have to check.” Tosh makes room for him next to her as he sits down and slips on his shoes. “He’s immortal and from the future where apparently kids turn green instead of getting the bloody chicken pox, neither of which anyone wants happening to Indy.”

“Indy? Dear God, Ianto. You got the kind of girl who names her kid Indiana Jones, up the duff?”

He does try to tell her his name is Morgan, but Ianto’s not sure how Gwen could possibly hear him draped across Tosh and laughing that hard.

“All right, come on. The queen isn’t paying us to gossip in the locker room. Let’ s please go find something not me to focus on for a while.”

***

He’s outside next to the bay taking long breaths of fresh air and wishing it was smoke when a pick of nicotine gum is tossed on the railing in front of him.

“You’ve been leaving a trail of chewed pens everywhere you’ve been working today. It’s disgusting; the one I picked up was still wet on the end so eat that.” He ponders shoving Owen over the railing for thirty seconds before ripping into the brand new gum and taking two pieces. “I’m surprised you haven’t run down to the news stand yet.”

“I thought about it, but every time I have to quit it’s fucking murder. Plus I have to dry clean everything I own and steam clean my furniture too. At the moment it’s too much hassle for the buzz, but not by much.” The breeze off the water is cold, but it feels good on his face as Ianto rests his weight on his folded arms. They’re already three incursions in and it’s not even five yet, but they’ve all been small and inert. Rift trash. He’s still tired from hauling space debris from wherever it landed to the SUV and then down from the loading bays to the archives.

“If I’d thought you hadn’t gotten the ‘retcon and sex’ talk at London I would have covered it, really. I’m not that much of a knob.” It’s so close to an actual apology that Owen might as well be serenading him for all it’s weirdness. “Jack says we’re coming up clear for the evening, but to be ready for a two am breech, so he’s sending us home early and by us, I mean the girls since he wants to talk to you and I’m tagging along back to yours to take some blood.”

“All right.” He wait’s a moment before looking over to see Owen still standing there, hands in his pockets looking out over the waves. “What, Owen?”

“I’m the only one who hasn’t seen is what. Come on, unhand it. If I’ve got to come back to yours and torture a baby with needles, something I would have become a pediatrician if I wanted to do, I should at least get to see. Everyone else has.”

“You are not actually jealous that you haven’t gotten to see pictures of my maybe-baby.”

“Jealous is a silly girlish word. I’m demanding my fair share of information.” Ianto rolls his eyes and passes his phone over to the doctor. Owen is silent for a moment before snorting loudly and kicking Ianto none to gently in the ankle. “Why are you wasting my time? This is like a small blackish clone of you. Except he’s adorable. In my professional medical opinion, I‘d even go so far as to call this a Jones-shaped-sprog.”

All right, maybe he won’t shoot Owen. Ianto spits his gum in the trash and feels a little better, even if his lips are a bit tingly.

“He is pretty cute, right? I’m going to see Jack, there’s fresh in the pot unless you emptied it earlier.” The medic snorts and smacks the phone into Ianto’s palm as they walk into the office and Ianto locks the door behind himself, swapping the sign to closed.

“I drank all of it and need more, preferably before you and Jack start soul searching about breaking the official secrets act.” Ianto shrugs and shoves his hands deep in his pockets.

“I don’t know what else to do.” The thing about Owen is that if you can make yourself sit through the condescension and snark that comes with it, he gives remarkably good advice. Good enough that Ianto’s willing to take the crap that comes with it right now. “She’s here for a month Owen, and I am very sure that if I don’t have some very good answers for her soon she’s going to go and she won’t be back. I want them to stay.”

“And if she doesn’t?” They step into the elevator down. “What if Jack gives you permission to spill and it’s too much, or not enough and she packs up the offspring and fucks off anyway?”

“Well, then at least I tried, didn’t I?”

***

No one has left, despite Jack having freed them all for the day. Gwen and Tosh are hanging out in his office in fact, cooing over Jack’s phone again and, from the tiny tinny sound from it’s speakers, a video of Indiana from the airport.

“I’m filled with the urge to put him in a teeny tiny suit.” Gwen chirps. Jack, giant girl that he is, seems just as charmed by the idea as she does. Owen, thankfully, is disgusted.

“You cannot shove an infant in a suit, as a child who was often shoved in formal clothing, I promise you it‘s cruel and unusual punishment. If you want to play dress up, do it with the big one.” Gwen makes a rude noise.

“I have not yet begun to spoil, but it will be spectacular. Show him what we found Tosh. I hope you like it because I already paid for it. It’s on the way.”

“Oh, now where on Earth did you find this?” He has to admit, looking down at the image of a bright blue stuffed pteranodon with a goofy smile stitched into it’s bill, that this is kind of cute.

“When it comes to shopping, I has the internet skills. Also, I’m not going home until I see that baby. Jack got to see him, Owen gets to see him. I’m seeing him tonight Ianto. So’s Tosh. You’re being invaded.”

“You’re not invading my flat.” She just smiles sweetly at him

“Yes we are. Come on, just for a moment? We just want to hold him and say hello to Cheyenne which is completely not weird because we all went drinking on your birthday together last year.”

“Yeah, you invaded then too.” Gwen claps her hands and points at him excitedly.

“Yes, and it all turned out very well then too! Call her and tell her you’re being invaded so she’ll bring him ‘round to yours.”

“You’re actually serious. You’re really going to what, hold me hostage until I produce this child to be cuddled on demand? I’ve got things she and I need to talk about Gwen.”

“Which you can’t do until Owen leaves anyway. Don’t make me ask Tosh to pull out the big guns since you apparently owe her a favor?” This is not good. He is out numbered and Gwen will be unlivable if he refuses to invite her around tonight and then she finds out on top of that that the favor he owes Tosh is for keeping Gwen out of the loop.

“I will _call_ , but that’s as far as my promises extend and there will be no badgering regardless of her answer.” From the corner of his eye, Ianto can see Owen rolling his own eyes in exasperation but that hardly stops him from taking a seat with his feet up on Jack’s desk and watching him just as intently as everyone else as he dials. “Okay, this is just silly. Everybody stop staring at me right now…”

“Your team mates or hamsters, because have you noticed that hamsters have a tendency to stare vacantly?” He grins despite himself at Cheyenne‘s cheerful tone, sitting on the corner of Jack’s desk and kicking the arm of Owen’s chair just to see him frown and hop it away without getting up because he’s a lazy sod.

“Why on earth would I have hamsters staring at me?” Owen pauses in confusion and he grins and uses the delay to kick his chair again.

“Because your life is pretty strange and my best guess is probably never weirder than what happened.” She’s laughing delightedly in his ear.

“Ah, well today you are wrong, because being stared down with hamsters _would_ have been weirder than my day today. I’m being stared down by Gwen and Toshiko who say hello and are threatening to invade my flat until I produce Indiana.”

“And your friends holding you hostage for baby holding rights is less weird than hamsters staring at you?”

“Well, yes. Where would the hamsters have come from?” 

“Damnit, you’re making that up. You two are _not_ talking about staring hamsters.” He grins at Owen and hit’s the speaker button.

“Are we talking about hamsters, Chy?”

“Of course we are, where the hell have you been…am I on speaker? Hello Jack.”

“Hello Cheyenne.” Jack tilts himself towards the phone with a smile that has Gwen watching them without even the pretext of not being interested. “He’s quite serious you know, they’re all sitting here staring at him and willing to randomly show up at his place to get to Indiana. Huh, kind of sounds like…”

“If the next words out of your mouth are temple, ark, or crusade Jack, I will do something awful to you. No idea what, but it will suck somehow. So, what? Am I swinging by your place, because I’m about to leave town and I’d really love to know before I get on the M4.” Gwen is batting her eyes at him over a wide smile, Tosh is nodding silently, and Jack just shrugs because outside of life or death situations, he’s never helpful when Ianto needs him to be. “Ianto?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re all on the way to mine now. As in get your coats and be at your cars before I get to mine Ladies and Gentlemen.” Ianto pushes off the desk, heading for the door and listening with a grin to the scrambling behind him as he clicks the line off speaker. “Sorry about that. You have no idea, they really would have come up with half a dozen reasons to randomly stop by tonight hoping you’d be there with him. Every time I turned around today someone who was not me had my phone.” He makes a circuit of the upper level, making sure all the lights are out and the screens are all powered down to standby before ducking into the conference room. “So, do you remember how to get to my flat?”

“I have GPS. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s a right from the highway, left at the park, up the one way, left at the corner store, right side of the road seventh house.” Ianto shakes his head in disbelief.

“How the hell do you remember that? Really?”

“Oh, I’m good with directions. Plus, the first time you take a left at a mossy pillar and end up lost in the kind of places that have predatory cats and snakes, you learn to pay attention. I’m going to be, oh, half an hour? I need to stop at McDonalds.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, I could make you something.”

“No, you can’t. You’ve made me one successful meal the entire time I’ve known you and even if it’s as good as the last one was, I cannot have people watching me eat. It’s a thing of mine. I can eat if everyone else is, but not if it’s just me.”

“Wait, hold on a moment.” He moves the phone away from his ear, reaching up and tapping his ear piece to the all coms line. “Addition to the plan, who’s hungry?”

“Excellent.” Owen, predictably, comes back first. “Jack’s treat.”

“Wait, why am I buying?” From where he’s leaning against the glass walls of the conference room Ianto can see Jack shrugging into his coat as he argues with Owen who’s disappearing down into the autopsy bay two steps at a time.

“Because you’re buying my affection back and I’m cheap.”

“Aw, I was going to say that.” Gwen’s head is occasionally peeking above or around the rift manipulator. “About Owen being cheap I mean. Tosh, you in for dinner?”

“Certainly. Ianto, do you want your sweater from your locker while I’m down here?”

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” He drops off the coms and goes back to the phone. “Okay, well now everyone is having take away at mine, so unless you’re really _dying_ for a chicken nugget…”

“Not at all. Get a move on then, because I’m on the highway now and if I make it to your place first, I’m going to see if I’m awesome enough to pick the locks on _your_ front door.”

“Found out about that, huh?”

“The fact that you and Jack knew where the kitchen was last night was a clue. So was my neighbor stopping over today to tell me what a nice boy my boyfriend was and how considerate he was to make sure everything was working before my flight landed. I’d be creeped out if I didn’t already know you’re a spook with control issues. I’m ten minutes from your house Ianto and I’m serious, you’re going to come in and find me searching for your porn.” She hangs up in the middle of a giggle and Ianto turns off the light to the conference room and takes the stairs down at a run.

“Come on if you’re coming with me, I’ve got to go, I’m apparently in a race to not have my flat broken into.”

“Wait, the winner gets to break into yours?” Owen cackles evilly and takes off at a sprint for the elevator. “I’m gonna kick the door in!”

“Wha…Owen, you frog mouthed cocksucker, you keep your feet off my door!” He’s not going to make it to the elevator in time, not when Owen was less than a hundred feet from the Hub door and he’s on the other side of the Hub closest to Jack’s office.

“Oh yeah?” He slips through the cog door before it’s a third open, the skinny fucker, and kills the door from the other side, cackling. “Make me.”

“Shit, he’s going to hide my bloody keys again…Lift. Jack, turn on the lift!” The invisible lift is definitely faster than the elevator and Owen knows it if the way he’s jabbing at the elevator buttons is any indication.

“Have they been doing this often?” He ignores Jack’s question, scrambling around the half stairs and jumping across the waterway as Owen lets out a victorious bellow and the elevator rings.

“Sometimes.” Tosh answers over Gwen cheering for him to run. “It’s like they bring out the inner seven year old in each other when they get too stressed. If you indulge them it keeps the crossfire to a minimum, unlike with _you_ and Owen.”

“Jack!” The invisible lift starts up with a shudder as soon as his feet hit it, moving not at the slow creep Jack uses to impress the ‘tourists’ but at full speed, jolting upward fast enough to make the safety protocols kick in, the air around it shimmering as the walls reverse engineered from the portable cell tech turns on.

Ianto comes off the lift at full speed the moment the safety walls come down, weaving through the crowd of people on the ground and bursting through the tourist office door at a sprint, disappearing through the beaded curtain and snatching his car keys out of the top drawer seconds before Owen crashes into the back room.

“I’m younger and faster and now you have to go all the way back downstairs to get your kit for the blood test. Idiot.”

“It’s already in my trunk and my car is still faster than yours. See you at your flat.” Owen ducks out the door again and Ianto can’t keep from rolling his eyes as he dashes out after him.

***

Cheyenne has definitely won the race to his flat. Her rental is parked across the street from his building and there’s music floating down the stairs as Ianto takes them two at a time, Owen bitching behind him about cheating despite having had two head starts.

“Oi, feet off my couch please!” She’s standing on it, doing a little victory dance, Indiana in one arm and waving a hair pin at him with her free hand. Indy looks just as pleased as his mother, gurgling and cooing as she bounces him along to the bass beat.

“Ooh, nice suit. I feel underdressed.” She might feel underdressed but she looks fantastic, curls held off her face by a pair of expensive shades, ripped and bleached jeans hugging her legs and a tiny tank that’s showing off exactly how good motherhood has been to her. She steps down carefully on bare feet, at least she took her shoes off before doing a victory trample on his furniture, crossing the floor to sling her arms around his neck and press her lips to his cheek. “Hey, you.”

“Hi.” She surrenders Indiana as soon as he reaches for him. He cradles the tiny solid body against his chest tugging his tie away from greedy fists and a gaping mouth, pretty sure at some point there was something gross and probably alien near it.

“Oh my _God_ , he’s even cuter in person. Hand him over and I won’t have to hurt you.” There’s a crowd just inside his door, Jack just barely inside the flat behind Tosh and Owen and Gwen all but plastered against Ianto’s back to look down at the wiggling bundle in his arms grinning a gummy smile up at them from inside the puffy black penguin sleeper. “Hello Cheyenne, how’s your year been?”

“Busy. Pleasure to meet you again Gwen.” They reach _around_ him to shake hands, heaven forbid Gwen step away from him and miss out on hogging the baby. “Toshiko, Owen.”

“Okay, I am entirely too squished. Gwen, back up. Tosh gets to hold him first since she’s the only one who hasn’t tried to steal my keys, race me across town, or barge into the shower on me today.”

“Wow, your day was much more interesting than mine.” Cheyenne steps back, giving him space to hand Indiana off to Tosh with a surprising amount of reluctance. He actually has to remind himself that the woman is a certified genius to stop himself from chiding her to be careful of the tiny head she’s got tucked in the crook of her elbow.

“Oh no, this is the kind of day that only happen when I don’t give them enough to do.” Jack shoulder checks Owen out of the way and kicks the door closed, pausing next to Tosh as Indiana shoots out the hand not currently clenched in Tosh’s hair, pawing and grabbing for the buttons gleaming against the blue-grey wool. “And how was your day tiger?”

“Can you tell Jack it was busy? We had to go find the cable place, get the gas back on, make sure all the mail we hadn’t been getting for two weeks was actually sitting in the post office, which we couldn’t find for an hour by the way, and then we stopped by Ikea for a crib, but they’re all cheap tiny baby jails.”

“That’s what Ianto said about cots from Ikea. Can I have my buttons back now?” Indiana has managed to catch the button he was reaching for and is gurgling gleefully as he yanks Toshiko’s hair and Jack’s coat hard enough that she winces and the heavy fabric sways.

“Boy, you are going to snatch her bald. You let go right now.” What did people do before cell phones with high res cameras, when they couldn’t just reach in their pockets and start filming the fact that it take three adults, two of whom outwit alien threats on a daily basis, to untangle a four month old from Tosh’s hair and Jack’s coat. Cheyenne rolls her eyes as she sees his phone out, tilting the baby so both of them are looking straight at the lens. “Tell him Indy. Say, ‘we’re crap at this mummy and baby thing, but we’re figuring it out and we have no regrets!’ Huh, rockstar, not a one.”

***

Ianto is sprawled on the couch, distracting Indy from the residual discomfort of having blood drawn by dipping his finger in a thick paste Jack made from mixing an extra order of yoghurt and Halva and sticking it in Indiana’s mouth every time it pops open. He seems to love it, gums snapping down on his hand like a steel trap every time hard enough that he’s pretty sure he can feel the beginnings of teeth in a couple places. At the table Cheyenne is grimacing as Owen twists a rubber strip above the bend of her elbow.

“Now. Why are we taking my blood again? Because I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that I’m his mom.”

“Because I’m going to run a full set of panels while I’ve got it all in front of me and might need a comparative sample later. Tight fist please.” Ianto can feel the cotton ball and tape across the inside of his own arm as he adjusts his grip on the infant resting with his back on the slope of Ianto’s drawn up legs. “Here we go.”

“Lame.” She grimaces, but keeps her complaints down to that as Owen fills one of the green tipped vials, scrawling something that’s most likely her name if you tilt your head and call the lazy swoop at the beginning a ‘C’.

“You’re fine, big baby. Twenty four to forty-eight hours depending on how busy we are at work. Give me your number and I’ll call you first.” Owen gives him a look that says ‘better you than me’ as she punches her number into his phone, because of course he and Jack have yet to even discuss what if anything they’re telling her, but from the way she’s been watching them since Tosh and Gwen excused themselves sometime around six-thirty Ianto’s pretty sure that’s not going to fly as an excuse. “There we go. Pleasure to meet you again and congratulations on a beautiful child despite the genetic options you were given.”

“You’re a…” Ianto looks down at Indiana watching him through eyes narrowed in concentration as he gums away at the paste on Ianto’s fingers and bites his tongue. “Well, let’s assume you know _exactly_ what you are doctor Harper, and where not to let the door hit you.”

“Yeah, well I’m taking the last of the gyro’s, you ungrateful little sot.” Owen grins and stuffs the last one in his mouth, nodding in the direction of the couch where Ianto and Jack are sitting before letting himself out.

The door is entirely too loud, despite him closing it softly behind himself, leaving Ianto staring down at the bundle in his lap and trying not to admit to himself that he’s pretending not to feel her eyes on the top of his head.

“All right Gentlemen, where are we starting?” Jack sits on the arm of the couch behind Ianto, knee brushing against the back of Ianto’s head.

“I suppose that will depend on how much you want to know Cheyenne.” He can feel Jack shifting around behind him as the man leans forward to address the woman still sitting at the table. “You can ask anything you want, as long as you understand I might not answer.”

“All right, fair enough.” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand and regards them both through narrow eyes, nibbling at the edge of her thumb as she stares. “Let’s start easy. What’s your last name Jack?”

“Harkness.” Her face twists into a thoughtful frown.

“Jack Harkness. Jack Harkness…I swear to god I’ve heard that name somewhere.” Ianto can’t help reaching behind his back and wrapping his hand around Jack’s ankle as he watches confusion be swept out of her eyes by shock, denial, and hot anger. “No. Oh come on, _really_?!” She drops her head to the table with a thunk loud enough to startle the baby, wrapping her arms over her head and tugging at her hair. “Torchwood? You two are fucking _Torchwood_?”

“Yes, and so are Gwen, Tosh, and Owen, so if you could maybe not say Torchwood the same way other people say ‘herpes’, that would be appreciated.” Ianto can’t keep himself from snapping at her because this is everything he thought it would be when he imagined her reaction.

“Well if it helps, I’d have said UNIT and SHIELD the same fucking way.” Her voice is muffled by the fact that she’s not lifting her head from where it keeps softly thumping against the tabletop. “I am now, officially, revoking my own license for good relationship decisions. Who does this? Seriously, what kind of person manages to mix themselves up with alien hunters not once, but _twice_ , completely by accident? I say that assuming that in addition to breaking into my rental you’ve done a through enough background check to know about James?”

“Oh, um…” Why didn’t it occur to Ianto that at some point it might loop back around to trying to tell Cheyenne that they’ve had this conversation before, more than a year ago and then she chose to forget it?

“We know your husband was a member of SHIELD, yes.”

“This is fucked up.” She stands in a rush and Ianto tightens his grip on Indiana automatically, convinced she’s about to sweep over to the couch, snatch him up in her arms and disappear out the door. Instead she wraps her arms around her waist, looking anywhere but at them as she backs towards the glass door to the balcony. “I…wow. I need a minute. I need _more_ than a minute, but I’ll take what I can get. Just…” She breaks off in the middle of her sentence and turns, storming across the kitchen floor and letting herself out onto the balcony. She closes it behind herself quietly stepping over to the far right side, the only part of the balcony not visible from the couch.

“I can’t tell if this is going well or badly.” Jack rests his hand on Ianto’s shoulder and squeezes, but whether in sympathy or reassurance he isn’t sure.

“Well, she’s still here. Can’t be going as badly as all that.” Indy has abandoned the makeshift baby food and fallen asleep with a suddenness that would be startling if he didn’t remember David and Mica doing the same thing when they were this size, tiny fist still locked around Ianto’s finger.

“Of course it can. I’ve seen her this mad. She’s taking a breather to make sure she has her rant planned out. I don’t even know what to tell her.”

“Tell her what she asks. I’ll step in on anything I can’t let you answer.” Something about Jack’s easy acquiesces makes Ianto uneasy. He slides away from the hand that’s moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, twisting to look at Jack as he speaks.

“Actually Jack, why _are_ we being so forthcoming? Gwen’s _marrying_ Rhys and she still hasn’t told him. _Rhys_ still thinks we’re part of the local branch of the UKSF because that’s policy, so why is Chy different?” Jack is darting his eyes between the glass door where only the curve of Cheyenne’s shoulder is visible and Ianto’s face, his expression a curious mix of nervousness and defiance.

“Because I’m the head of the Torchwood Institute and I can _do_ that.” It’s a very Jack answer in that it’s technically one hundred percent true while still being an enormously huge lie.

“Bullshit. You keep looking at her the same way you’ve been watching _all_ of us since you got back…no. Absolutely _not_. I swear to god Jack I will come up with something that has them out of the country so fucking fast everyone’s head will spin because you are _not_ offering her a position.”

Jack sets his jaw and crosses his arms, watching Ianto out of narrowed eyes as the younger man pushes up off the couch, pacing back and forth as he jiggles the infant who’s starting to fuss in his arms.

“Last time I checked the charter all hiring decisions are made by the director.”

“You’re missing the point! She doesn’t _want_ to be involved. She’s outside right now, _livid_ that she’s mixed back up with this life again _peripherally_ Jack. She didn’t want it last time you offered and that was when it was just her. Why on _Earth_ would you think she wants it now, when there‘s Indiana and she‘s all he has?”

“She doesn’t have to be all he has! It’s not like I was making it up when I told her the first time I’d love to have a linguist back on staff. The translation circuits on my vortex manipulator blew when everything else did. We’ve got an entire _archive_ of artifacts and information that’s filed into ‘round script’, ‘angular script‘, and ‘squiggles’.” Ianto grits his teeth and scowls as Jack gestures past Ianto’s shoulder towards the glass doors and the woman on the other side. “We could use someone who can at least recognize patterns in the scripts and organize them better than that. She doesn’t have to take Indiana and run all over the world. She can stay _here_ , work for us.”

“And when she dies, what then? The next time someone or something makes it into our base or catches us at the wrong time in the field and _she’s_ the one caught under a hail of bullets, who’s left for Indiana, because it’s probably not _me_ Jack! I’ve walked away from shit that makes my fucking skin cold thinking about how close we came. How long do you think I can keep doing that? How long do you think my luck is going to hold? Not eighteen fucking years, that‘s for sure. What happens to Indy when the smoke clears and you’re the only one standing there Jack?”

“I…”

“Okay, let‘s get something clear right now!” Ianto winces as the sliding glass door is slung open so hard it bounces off the end stop and mostly closed again as Cheyenne bursts back into the room. “ _First_ of all, I should have known you weren’t spies, because neither one of you noticed I left the goddamn door open.” She closes it behind herself with a click that makes Ianto feel like an idiot for not hearing before. “ _Second_ of all, Ianto Jones, I don’t need you stepping in throwing temper tantrums and threatening to take me away like a shared _toy_ when you don’t like the way the others are playing with it. You didn’t _bring_ me anywhere and you sure as hell aren’t sending me anywhere, is that clear?” He’s so mad, and humiliated, that his ears are actually ringing and the way she’s glaring at him, gripping the door handle of the balcony doors like it’s _actually_ the only thing keeping her from coming across the room at them both isn’t helping matters. “That was not a rhetorical question. I want to hear you _say_ you understand that when and where I come and go isn’t up to you.”

“That is _not_ what I meant and if you were eavesdropping through shut doors than you know it.” He’s hissing through clenched teeth, trying to keep Indiana from coming any further awake. “I’m going to go put him on the bed and then I’ll be back to finish this.”

“Good, because I would love to hear _all_ about how Jack offered me a job with Torchwood before and everyone knows it but me.”

***

Ianto checks the diaper on the tiny sleeping body as he arranges him in the middle of the mattress, clearing all the heavy blankets down to the foot of the bed and building a small pillow fort around him because Ianto doesn’t even know if Indiana can roll over.

“All right you. I’m about to go have it out with your mummy, and Jack I guess, and she’s going to be very mad at me and him before we’re done. Maybe mad enough that she doesn’t come back. So if you two walk away tonight and I don’t see you again, know that daddy fought like hell for it not to be that way.” He brushes a kiss across the small head turned to the side and is halfway back to the door before his brain catches up to his mouth.

He just said daddy to the tiny person on the bed and he might not get to say it again if everything doesn’t go exactly right. It’s enough to have his jaw clenched as he eases out of the bedroom, quiet when all he wants is to start yelling from the doorway and not stop until they’re both staring and _silent_. The two of them have been back in his life less than three days, which is apparently all they needed to turn it upside down, throw their weight around, and push him until every single feeling he’s been trying shove down and repress is boiling over.

They started this, all of it, by lying and leaving and coming back (and clean) when it suited them, but now Ianto’s going to finish it and they can sit down and shut up or leave.


	5. Chapter 5

Cheyenne is prowling the length of the kitchen, hands shoved in the back pockets of her jeans and Jack is perfectly still, perched on the arm of the couch exactly as Ianto left him. Only his eyes are moving, tracking the woman who’s staring him down as she paces. The air between them is obviously no different than the air anywhere else in the flat, but it feels heavier on his skin as Ianto makes himself step forward until he’s physically blocking their view of each other.

“Both of you stop it. Sit down Cheyenne.” For a moment she rolls up on the balls of her feet, shoulders squared back like she wants to scream or throw a punch before swaggering over to perch on the other arm of the couch, arms crossed under her breasts and ankle resting on her knee.

“Fine. I’m still waiting to hear about a job offer I don’t remember getting.”

“Can you stop acting like this is some kind of personal attack against you?” Ianto sits on the coffee table where he can see both of them, folding his legs underneath himself as he scrubs his hands through his hair. “You’ve done this before and you know as well as I do that not telling you was standard operating procedure. I promise you, if Jack wasn’t the director of the entire Torchwood Institute, we wouldn’t be having this conversation _now_ , so you can stop glaring at him like he’s the antichrist any time now.”

“I’ve dealt with this before Ianto, and I wasn’t real crazy about it then either. It’s all lies, and insanity, and being the only person on your block awake at three am because you know that low booming isn’t low flying maneuvers and someone you love is standing between something potentially life threatening and the entire, literal, world. It’s your guts freezing every time the phone rings in the middle of the night, and getting government escorts out of fucking _class_ because your husband was wounded in the field, the linguist on site was _dismembered_ , and you’re the only qualified translator within a six hour flight. I had just started getting over it, all the fucking baggage that comes with what you guys do and what James _did_ when he left for work one day and a flag came home instead. I knew it could happen, all right, it had been in the back of my head from the day he graduated boot camp, but they stood there and told me to my _face_ that they couldn’t tell me what happened. That they couldn’t give me his _body_ and that I could lie about it, or forget about it and I agreed to lie. I looked his mother in the eye and lied about how her son died and you want me to do all of that again? You want me to be _involved_?”

“You’ve already been involved.” Jack’s voice is low as he leans towards her, hand clenched into a fist on his knee as if to keep from reaching towards her as he speaks. “There was trouble and you stood shoulder to shoulder with my team and you were _magnificent_ kiddo. I must have tried three or four times to convince you to stay with Torchwood, but you said you needed more time between your husband and being around anything like that. You said to ask you again after you finished your doctorate. Well, you finished in June and this is me asking you again. I don’t need another field agent, not from you anyway. I don’t want you armed on the front lines, okay? You’re a specialist, one that our organization no longer has access to. I’d like to change that.”

“And all this just…slipped my mind, huh? Convenient car crash just rattled it right loose?” Ianto looks up from where he’s been glaring at his interlaced fingers and white knuckles. Her face is frighteningly pale except for two bright red spots high on her cheeks below shuttered eyes.

“Of course not. You already know there wasn’t a car crash, I can see it in your face. Yes, we gave you something to make you forget but you asked for it. You knew it was coming before you decided to involve yourself, despite me all but fucking _begging_ you not to, might I add. We offered it to you early enough that you just would have thought you were so tired from your trip you slept half a day away, and you said no. You chose to fight, you chose to forget so don’t snarl at me like I knocked you in the back of the head and dumped it down your throat.”

“This is insane. So Jack wants me to come work for you, and you don’t want me anywhere near Torchwood.”

“No I don’t. For every reason you just gave and a couple hundred more.”

“But you want me to stick around despite them? Cause I know what you’ve been thinking, Ianto. You keep looking at me and Indy like you’re mentally rearranging things in your head to make room for us.”

“Would it be a bad thing if I was?” He puts his bare feet flat on the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head drop into his palms.

“Maybe. You really think you’re up to juggling that many balls…” They both whip their heads towards Jack who’s got his lips pressed together to try and hold back the rest of the bitten off snicker that escaped. “Oh my god, Jack. Really?”

“I have a massive amount of bad habits, taking the cheap laugh at inappropriate times is one of them.” He’s fiddling with the cuff of his shirt, straightening the line where it’s folded edge bisects his forearm and it’s easy to see how pale his skin got against the deep blue cotton.

“This is horse shit gentlemen.” At least she’s unfolding herself, one foot resting on the seat of the couch, the other swinging above the floor as she leans forward as well. “I want you to know it’s nothing but exceedingly good breeding that’s keeping me from my overwhelming desire to just start breaking shit and hollering. I don’t…what am I supposed to _say_ here? I don’t know what to do with this shit.”

“Welcome to the fucking club!” He stands up because he can’t keep sitting still, stalking towards the fridge and ignores his initial instinct to reach in the freezer for the tequila, grabbing three beers off the top shelf and smacking the tops off on the edge of the counter. “None of this is easy, alright? I haven’t been any wilder about lying to you than you say you were about lying to me.” She takes her beer silently, peeling at the label as he passes the third to Jack. “But it’s done with. I lied to you because I had to, and I’m not anymore because I don’t want to. I knew what your reaction was going to be, because you weren’t thrilled last time either, but I told you anyway. And I told you because yeah, I want you to stay. So what? That’s how it is in this business. You don’t have the only claim to being pissed, but at least I’m trying!”

“Okay, we’re taking a time out.” Jack’s voice is stern, cutting between them as Cheyenne opens her mouth to fire back. “Because this is about to turn into something ugly if it keeps going in that direction.”

“Oh, what do you know?” It’s a sulky mutter from Cheyenne, more just to have something to say back to Jack than any real objection as she settles back and starts nursing her drink.

“About this? Plenty. As of now, anything that can’t be said civilly cannot be said until at least one of these beers is empty.”

The room is mostly quiet, just the wet sounds of drinking and the low rattle of the radiator coming on hanging in the air.

“So…when you say I fought aliens, you mean what? Cause I keep getting this mental image of me screeching like an idiot and possibly flailing as I run?” Jack chokes a bit on his beer laughing at her.

“You’re not serious. Wait, are you serious?” Her face is bright pink as she shrugs and takes a long pull off her bottle.

“James would tell me these stories sometimes and all I could think was ‘Couldn’t be me. I’d embarrass the entire human race by shrieking and fainting or something.’ I suppose I was assuming I actually _did_ that. Accidentally saved the day by falling down and screaming at the right time.”

“Jesus no! These things were huge; three meter tall eel people, and you killed two of them.” Ianto nods as she looks incredulously at him, looking for confirmation that Jack is full of it.

“You were bad ass. It was hot, even if you fucked up the front end of my car hitting one.”

“Okay, you’re going to have to start over on that one. I ran over an _alien_ with your Nissan?”

Recapping the two days they spent fighting for their lives doesn’t take nearly as long as Ianto thinks it should, even with Jack filling in the bits he didn’t actually know about the encounter in Owen’s domain.

“So you admit then that I screamed and flailed.” Jack rolls his eyes as he smirks.

“Yes, okay. There was a point where you screamed like a co-ed from a slasher movie and actually _flipped a table_ , just like I’ve heard you threaten to do, while you threw anything you could get your hands on, but that didn’t keep you from shooting the thing coming right for you.”

“This is insane. Even if I was the Chuck Norris-esque bad ass you are describing, that’s not something I would want to do every day man, are you kidding me? You’re sitting here telling me years of sushi almost get its revenge and you want me to come work for you?”

“I’m not offering you a position in the field Cheyenne. I’m offering you a deal a lot like what you had with SHIELD. An affiliated consulting position. It gives you level six security clearance for every allied institution with access to level four information at my discretion. I’m assuming you were made familiar with what that means.” She nods silently. “It comes with a visa and a pretty good salary. Mostly I‘d just have you down in the archives with Ianto working on some sort of identification system for unknown languages, maybe some verbal translation work so we don‘t have to keep using UNIT’s translators for international calls.”

“This is…it’s still just too much for tonight, all right? And if that makes y’all the bigger men, so to speak, then I am willing to accept that. I need to not think about this right now.” She sets her still mostly full beer on the side table, warm and heading towards flat after she’s been fidgeting with it for more than twenty minutes. “I need to get Indy home. It’s way past his bedtime and the dogs need to be fed again so how long do I have to make up my mind?”

“It’s an open offer, Cheyenne. You have until you say yes or no. Your knowledge of this conversation isn’t resting on if you accept the job or not. I’m the boss kiddo, I say what goes and I’m making a judgment call based on extenuating circumstances based on your previous knowledge and services rendered.”

“Wow. You’re being completely professional, you really are, and yet I can’t hear that as anything but dirty when it comes out of your mouth.”

“It’s both a gift and a curse. Seriously, it’s what I say goes and I say you know.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, just gets up and starts collecting her things. Indy’s sleeper, the diaper bag, her shoes, silent until she’s got him bundled in her arms, halfway to the door.

“I don’t suppose that drug of yours, the retcon, has an antidote?” It’s on the tip of his tongue to disappoint her when Jack beats him to it.

“It’s not requested often. Most time retcon is used is for the good of the person it’s administered to, but yeah, of course it does. It’s a very stupid policy that doesn’t leave you with the option of going back in for information that might be needed later.” Getting up to pour her beer down the sink is a perfect way of keeping his face hidden as Jack drops that little gem so casually, as if it wasn’t something he’d _never_ told his staff.

“Can I have it?” 

“No.” Jack sounds like he’s choking on his words and Ianto watches his reflection in the window over the sink. Watches Jack fidgeting with his shirt sleeves again. “That _would_ be conditional upon accepting employment with Torchwood. You were in the base and handled alien tech. I can’t let you have that. Sorry.”

“That’s kind of what I thought. I’ll call.” She lets herself out quietly and Ianto watches Jack get up very calmly, walk into the bathroom and turn on the water which does not cover the sound of his retching.

It is entirely too dramatic to deal with. 

Ianto leaves the bottle in the sink, shuts himself in the bedroom and flops face first onto the bed in the dark room, the pillows that were bracketing Indiana bunched up uncomfortably under his chest. He’s still lying in the dark, trying to ignore the pillows when Jack cracks opens the door, his shadow stretching over Ianto and onto the wall across from him.

“Ianto?”

“This has been every bit the melodramatic cluster fuck I thought it would be. Why does it always feel like a melodramatic cluster fuck when the three of us are in the same room?” The shadow draws closer and the bed dips as Jack sits on the edge.

“Because melodrama seems to be a natural side effect of our lives. It’s kind of hard to have little flare ups about things like secret government agencies, hidden pregnancies, and aliens.”

“I live in a television program. No one _has_ these kind of issues and I have all of them. I’m living the kind of show they’d cancel mid-season when no one watches because it’s too unbelievable!”

“Now who’s melodramatic?”

“Oh shut up, you just puked. It beats my soap opera rant by at _least_ three on the scale of over reactions.”

“I’ve never actually had anyone request a retcon reversal. It’s always been done need to know and all I needed to know was what dose to mix until I took over. I’ve never had to _refuse_ to return someone’s memories for security reasons and I am so disgusted with myself it actually made me sick.” It still seems a bit overdramatic as far as reactions go, but Jack sounds genuinely gutted by it.

“Well, you’re the boss. You remind us a thousand times a day about it. Make an executive decision.”

“I can’t. I have to have her on staff to do that, Ianto. I was dead when she hit the bottom of the stairs. I had just enough awareness left to realize it was opening my throat, and the next time I opened my eyes I was on the floor and it was stalking her across the bay. She saw me come back.”

“Oh.” That’s completely different actually. Ianto flops over and tosses the pillows that were bunched under him onto the floor. Jack is hunched in on himself, eyes on the floor and it’s a little startling how off center Jack seems lately. As if anytime he’s not acting a part any little thing can take his feet out from under him. “So, uh, how’d she take it?”

“Better than most actually.” Jack flops backwards next to Ianto, elbows almost touching as he looks up at the ceiling through the darkness. A stripe of light is shining through the cracked door, illuminating just the corner of Jack’s mouth and shining in Ianto’s eye when he turns his head to watch the way Jack’s lips moves in the darkness. “Am I as scattered as I think I am? Honestly?”

“Honestly? A bit. You seem fine at work, if that’s what you’re worried about, but if you want to know if I can tell everything has you freaking out lately, yeah. I can.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, if it helps, you can’t tell at the Hub. Mostly, you seem to be doing all your freaking out here.”

“Because that’s not at all awkward and inappropriate.” Ianto can’t stop himself from making a rude noise.

“We’ve fucked on Owen’s desk and laughed about it for a week. I think we left inappropriate in the dust at least a year ago.” Jack jerks his leg, thumping Ianto’s ankle with his own and leaving it there. They’re pressed knee to ankle in the dark, watching each other from the corners of their eyes in the dim light from the kitchen.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how actually pissed are you that I didn’t tell you I wanted to offer Cheyenne a job?”

“One to ten? A six point two.” Jack snorts and tilts his body, rolling so that they’re pressed together along the entire line of their bodies.

“Your sense of precision is frankly alarming.” Jack twists his arm, the backs of his fingers brushing the inside of Ianto’s wrist. “And, for future reference, how pissed do you have to be before touching you is a bad idea?”

“I dunno, eight-ish? Wha…” His wrist is caught in Jack’s grip, calloused thumb tracing across the thin skin just over the veins. “Oh, in that case, nine?” Ianto watches the corner of Jack’s mouth twitch up into a smile in the strip of light before the illumination is blocked by the curve of Jack’s skull and the width of his shoulders as he leans up, pressing Ianto down into the mattress and kissing him.

This is really an awful habit they have, sublimating their issues underneath the awesomeness of the sex they have. It’s also a habit Ianto doesn’t think they’re changing any time soon. Not when sometimes it feels like the only shaky ground they’re building this relationship on. Jack’s weight has him sunk down in the nest of bedding, the long lines of their body pressed together. He tastes like Ianto’s toothpaste, sharp cinnamon on his breath as Jack twists them together. Tongues are tangled, hands pinned palm to palm on the bed and legs slotted together so that every arch of Jack’s hips presses them closer. It’s slow and insistent, everything Jack does that he normally loves, and it’s not that it doesn’t feel fantastic because it does, but…

“Fuck.” The words are an exasperated huff as Jack heaves himself off of Ianto and onto his back, glaring up at the blackness of the ceiling. “Sorry, I just…”

“No, it’s not just you.” Ianto flops an arm over his face and exhales loudly. “Oh, that unhappy moment in life when things are so shitty that sex doesn’t help.”

“I should head home anyway, double check those rift readings and the kit.” The bed moves as Jack sits up, patting Ianto’s thigh as he does. “Try and get some sleep and I’ll see you at one.”

There are a thousand things on the tip of his tongue and Ianto doesn’t say any of them, just lays there in the darkness and lets Jack leave.

***

The coordinates of the rift incursion are a mile off shore, so a quarter to two finds Ianto on the Sea Queen and glad he picked the comfort of jeans and a hoodie over fashion. The wind off the water is frigid as he sets the anchor and yanks the edges of his ski hat down further over his ears. Gwen is shuffling in place, rubbing her red fingers together and Ianto digs a pair of the cheap one size fits all gloves out of the footlocker, passing them to her as he heads back to the foredeck. Jack and Tosh look ridiculous side by side on the bench in scuba suits with blankets tucked around them.

“Anchor is set Sir, and Owen’s got all the scanners up and running. Everything looks normal. Are you ready for your equipment check?” the deck is damp under the knees of his jeans as Ianto kneels down to check Tosh’s weights and compensators, tightening straps and making sure all the hoses are untangled from the quick release pulls. “All right. Suit looks good. Back up air and face mask?” He watches the gauges as she breathes from both of them, before running the same check on Jack and reaching up to tap his ear piece. “Do we have ears? Tosh?”

“We’re on.” The echo of her mask and the rush of air being pumped in distort her voice into something flat and a bit creepy in the cold black night. He shakes off the creeps he’s giving himself and flashes her all’s clear signal.

“Jack, how’s your equipment?”

“Five by. We clear for the water?”

“Yep.” Just in time too if the buzzing itch at the back of his neck is any indication. The air warbles, a thin whining sound that turns into an ear splitting boom as the rift cracks open in a swirl of gold and white and Time. Ianto has his hands over his ears, twisting away from the maddening swirl of the open wound in the sky, but he’s still able to see the flaming wreckage of something the size of a car fall entirely too close to the Sea Queen for comfort. Close enough that the waves from impact rock the boat violently, sending everyone reeling for something to hold on to.

“Jack!” Owen’s already scrambling out of the cabin towards them as the rift sputters into sparks above them and the craft hisses steam and bobs perilously in the water. “Jack, there’s someone in there!” He’s waving the hand monitor for one of the big scanners at them as he gestures towards the sea. Toshiko and Jack flip over the rails of the boat, disappearing into the waves even as Gwen comes around from the aft deck at a run, dart guns and restraints in her hands. 

“Owen, we’re taking the boat out to meet them at the crash site. Get ready for causalities! Come on Ianto.” 

The sea is choppier from the dinghy than it felt on the big boat. Ianto keeps his weapon ready across his thighs, swaying with the swell as Gwen steers them along behind the LED glow from Jack and Tosh.

This is one of those parts of his job that Ianto really hates. The gnawing uncertainty when approaching a downed ship and not knowing if what’s inside is hurt or dead, friendly or not. Already Jack is at the ship, reaching out and touching the ship carefully before beginning to pull himself around the craft.

“I’m looking for a door. Hang back Tosh, everyone be on your guard.” Gwen’s got the boat holding ten feet out, circling wide around behind Jack. “Okay, I’ve got one, but this thing is taking on a lot of water. I think it’s gonna go if I open it. Ianto, what do we have for extra air?”

“Gwen!” He doesn’t turn around, never takes his eyes or his gun off the door. “Check that locker, there should be four bright yellow canisters labeled ‘Spare Air’ inside.”

“Got em!”

“We’re four good on extra air Jack.” The vehicle gives a shudder and a sheet of bubbles start rising around it. “It’s going down! Gwen, throw him the tanks!”

They arc across the black sky, thermos sized streaks of neon yellow that splash down within a foot of Jack, bobbing neutrally and both wet suited figures stroke towards them, clearing the area as the red ovalish machine begins to tip upwards and disappear beneath the waves. 

“Shit!” Jack grabs two of the floating canisters and flips neatly in place, vanishing without a splash, gone except for the low litany of curses in Ianto’s ear as he dives. His stomach is twisted up into his throat as Jack all but begs for the machine sinking to be a land transport of some kind, not a space vehicle, and Ianto doesn’t need a degree in space travel to know if that windscreen is built to withstand a vacuum then there’s no way they’re getting in. Gwen has her hands wrapped tightly around his wrist and he should make her let go because she’ll queer his shot if he needs to take one, but Ianto can’t make himself do it. Just listens to the watery echo of Jack walking Tosh through forcing the door open with the universal lock pick and the mini electro clamps, eyes straining to try to pick out a hint of movement or light more than sixty feet below him on the sea bed where the thing has come to rest. Fancifully he thinks he can hear the rush of air escaping when they finally get the door open, but the glut of air that bubbles to the surface is absolutely not his imagination. Neither is Jack’s desperate cursing.

“Shit, Tosh we have a family in here. Give me your extra air and get this one up! Ianto, tell Owen we have four incoming.”

***

It takes fifteen long minutes for Jack and Tosh to bring up three smallish limp figures, wrangling them as gently as they can into the dinghy. Only one is awake, three wide blue-greenish eyes darting back and forth as it pants for short shallow breaths, one arm twisted in a way that’s probably broken compared to the other two shaking and unconscious under emergency blankets as Gwen aims them back towards the boat. Owen already has gurneys waiting as Gwen brings the smaller craft up even with the Sea Queen, tying her off steady.

“Okay, I know you’re probably scared and can’t understand me, but we’re trying to help you.” Owen’s got his voice pitched low as he kneels, scooping the smallest of the figures up carefully and laying them out on the back board. He’s wearing his white coat, the one Jack gave him with the signs and sigil for medical help in what Jack insists are the five most recognized uses. The largest of the aliens must recognize one of them, because it slumps down, letting itself go limp in relief as Jack and Tosh splash up onto the deck, stripping out of their gear as quickly as possible. “It would be helpful to know if you understood me. Do you understand me?”

The sounds the creature makes as it reaches for Ianto’s hand with three long fingers, each singly jointed, is foreign but in a way that makes Ianto think it shouldn’t be. He folds his own hand comfortingly over it as he lifts its gurney upright and locks it off.

“Tosh, get the scanner, start running it for a language match.” Jack flips his wet hair back out of his eyes and doesn’t bother going for his clothes even though he’s shivering in the black neoprene shorts. “See if anything comes up. Ianto, help us get them into the med bay.”

The main state room of the Sea Queen has been replaced with a rudimentary medical lab. There’s not enough room for Owen and all three alien figures, even if the largest one would stand no taller than Ianto’s chest, much less Owen, three injured patients, _and_ Jack and Ianto. They help Owen get the two unconscious figures inside; the ones that they’re pretty sure are children, setting the larger one in the hall at such an angle that it can see Owen and both still forms.

“I’m going to launch some fresh wreck buoys around the ship and radio this in as a no-go zone. We’re heading in to shore after that Owen, do you need a hand?”

“I _need_ a bloody Grey Anatomy for Aliens!” The fluid smeared across his gloves is a pale blue ichor as the doctor start checking the appalling patch job Ianto tried to rig on the open sea with nothing more than emergency blankets, tape, and more bodies on the way. “I’m guessing Jack, and I could do a lot more harm than good.”

“That’s a kid your hands are in Owen, and that’s a parent out in the hall. If your guessing keeps him alive a little longer, that’s probably better than nothing as far as that big one is concerned. Do what you can, keep Ianto down here to assist. Tosh! Try to get the big one to talk again, keep trying to get a match from Mainframe but make time to get dressed. You’re going to catch your death running around in dive skins.” Tosh rolls her eyes and does not point out that Jack is mostly naked, leaning over the gurney in the hall, wet hair tucked behind her ears and streaming water down the skin tight grey and purple lycra shorts and sleeveless top she had on under her wetsuit.

“You’ve already got two you can’t handle man-slut, eyes on the injured please.” At least Owen keeps his voice down to a mocking hiss. “Get out of that stupid hoodie and scrub in, because I’m pretty sure this warm bit in my hand belongs on the inside.”

“Dick.” Ianto strips the damp black clothing off, tossing it in the far corner into the hamper, just barely squeezing through past Owen to the sink where he washes his hands exactly the way the medic demands, all the way up to his elbows and back down again. “And yeah, that’s what I thought. I just kind of stuffed it back in and tied a blanket around him.” Because when Jack had heaved the second, smallest, body onto the raft with something pale and hot gushing over Ianto’s bare hands and a slick edge of something that reminded him uncomfortably of intestines protruding from a gash in the torso longer than his palm from fingertip to wrist, Ianto had swallowed own the urge to vomit, tucked the bulge back inside as gently as he could, and tied the entire fucking mess shut with an emergency blanket and Gwen’s scarf.

“I fucking hate this guessing shit. Get these clothes off.” Ianto supports the tiny body, smaller than his niece, as Owen cuts up the front of what are obviously a child’s clothes, tiny and brightly colored, before peeling them back to reveal the ragged lips of a frighteningly large gash. “Hold this open.” Ianto sets his teeth and breathes shallowly through them as he slides the tip of his fingers inside a body cooler than his own, holding back the ragged flaps of skin and giving in to the urge to look inside as Owen angles the light down with a tap of his foot on the controls. The doctor slides his long narrow hand along the slick greenish curve of what definitely looks like some variation of intestine, following it into the cavity Ianto is holding open with a look of fierce concentration on his face. The thick blood and shit funk of an open gut wound is missing from the air. The scent is instead something kind of green, and kind of meaty, and really upsettingly, a hint of something like almonds that’s making Ianto wish he were up on deck. “Hold it together Jones. If you’re going to fuck me by growing a giant vagina and running puking off into the night you can at least turn your head away from the open wound first.”

“I could grow _two_ vaginas of _any_ size and I’d still never fuck you, you miserable amphibian of a man.” Ianto inhales through his gritted teeth and makes himself nut up, pushing back the shuddery screeching part of himself that’s not so quietly losing its shit at being knuckles deep in someone’s kid when they have no idea what they’re doing.

“A lesser man would be troubled by your insistence that I look like a frog.”

“A cocksucking frog.” Insulting Owen is always good for calming his nerves, and apparently the reverse is just a true because Owen’s hands are no longer hesitating before they touch, plunging in and out as they skate over things Ianto cannot imagine the use for.

“My mouth is a gift to grateful women and occasional men everywhere. They _cry_ when I go home in the morning.”

“Because they’ve sobered up enough to see.”

“We’re clean.” Owen’s voice is strictly professional again “No twists or snarls that I can feel. Keep him open just a little longer so I can get this in. I think it goes like…” There’s almost not enough space for his fingertips and Owen’s long slender fingers in the wound, gaping or not, but they just ignore the way their knuckles keep banging against each other until Owen eases his hands out gently with a grin. “Gotcha bitch. All right, soon as I’m out, press the wound together for me. We’re gonna use butterflies until we’re back to the Hub, just in case I’ve mucked it all up.”

Owen disappears towards the sink and Ianto tries not to stare at the rolled lip of orangey-pink flesh where his hands are covering most of the tiny torso, pressing the wound together or the pale watery blue blood that’s already smeared up to his wrists. He hates assisting Owen in surgery. If he had wanted to be elbows deep inside of living things, he’d have gone to school for it. Owen squeezes past him again, butterfly sutures already prepared.

“All right, five more minutes and you can go feed fish.” Ianto eases his grip to make sure the edges of the wound are as flush as they can get, breathing lightly through his mouth.

“If I let myself vomit now, I’ll do it again the next time I have to reach inside. I’m fine, just go.”

***

“Any luck with the translation matrix?” Tosh has stepped in to let Owen know the swelling in the broken arm is getting worse, which is news the doctor obviously doesn’t want to hear from the scowl carving itself deeper into his face. His gloves fly across the room into the biohazard bin as he yanks his hand away from the firm distended stomach area of the other small patient, forcing his face blank before heading out to the narrow hall.

“Nothing. I keep thinking it’s something I’ve heard before, something the equipment should be picking   
up, but isn’t.”

“You’re getting that too? We’re missing something. What are we missing?” The engines cut out, the floor under their feet going still.

“Ianto, swap with me. Get her up the dock and set up in quarantine one. Have Jack get the microton warming up and set to inert scan.” Jack, waiting at the end of the hall nods once and disappears into the Hub.

It’s a hard trip, getting the gurney to the clean rooms with as little jostling as possible. Every jolt wrenches a bitten back yowl from the alien on it, a high thick sound that makes him think not quite of an angry cat, more like a macaw mimicking a cat.

“Damn it, that’s it. We’re idiots.” He reaches up and taps his com onto open air as he eases the gurney against the wall and locks it still. “Tosh, we’re idiots.”

“Speak for yourself.” He can hear the wheels of the third bed she and Gwen are moving. “What are we missing?”

“Her accent. Whatever it is she’s speaking, she doesn’t really speak it. She’s like one of those tourists who only know how to ask for directions to their hotel and hospital. If it is some language we speak on Earth, she‘s mangling it enough that the systems aren‘t going to pick it up.”

“Fantastic. Are you hearing this Jack? Mainframe is going to be a bit of a bust on this one. Our program isn’t built for three and four degrees of separation like that. We need to call UNIT, Jack. Have them send out Corporal Guetta, maybe he can figure it out.”

“ _Fuck_ Guetta Jack. He’s a pompous little bastard and we won’t see him until orders get pushed through in triplicate. I don’t have until business hours Jack. _This kid_ doesn’t have until start of fucking day.” Things must be going badly, quickly, for Owen to be losing it over the open coms. “Call Ngoma, their guy‘s pretty good, or Saoshyant, it‘s daytime in India. I don‘t care who you fucking call, but this kid is bleeding into his fucking guts and I don‘t want to suture his asshole shut thinking I‘m stopping a bleed! I need to talk to his mother!” 

“Jack, can you come here please?” The mother, well they keep calling her that but for all Ianto knows this is the father, reaches up, locking those long trembling fingers around his wrist and making that sound again. That same high pitched sing-song sound that almost makes sense, made heavy with desperation. “We’re trying. I swear we are.” He uses his free hand to fish the phone from his pocket as he hears Jack’s footsteps on the cement outside the door. “I’m calling her. It’s worth the shot and Radyr is a lot bloody closer than Johannesburg and Hyderabad.”

“Do it.”

It’s a quarter past three in the morning and the phone rings four times before she picks up seconds before he’s bounced to voicemail.

“You obviously missed the subtext to ‘I’ll call’ where it meant I’m pissed off, leave me alone.”

“We’ve got a family dying and we can’t understand them. If we could have gotten someone sooner than six hours from now I wouldn’t have called, I swear.” There’s silence from her end of the line. “Two kids and one adult Chy. We had to leave the other one at the bottom of the bay for being too hurt to move. Cheyenne…”

“I’ll call back from the car. You can give me directions then, but tell Jack I still haven’t made up my mind. These are extenuating circumstances, and you‘d better have a safe place to stash Indy.” The line goes dead on him and he swallows dryly, shoving the mobile back in his pocket.

“She’s on her way.”


	6. Chapter 6

He meant to tell Gwen well before this since he‘s going to beg her to babysit, or at least let the rest of the team know what‘s going on, but a walk past Owen turned into a request for coffee that became coffee for everyone, and then swapping places with Tosh at the dark field microscopes to watch and wait for the centrifuge so she can go get dressed in something dry. He’s actually in the labs still when Gwen’s voice come in over the coms.

“Why’s Jack waiting on the lift? Jack, why are you just standing around on the lift?”

“I’m waiting for the translator.” 

“Who did you get in half an hour, Jack?” Ianto reaches up and thumbs the second monitor onto surveillance, flipping through the feeds until he can see a taxi pulling up on the other side of the water tower and Cheyenne step out. She’s wearing that red sling again; Indy tied tightly to her as she yanks out a large rolling bag and jerks a large purse up onto her shoulder. Her hair is a mess, curls tangled and frizzy around her face as she shuffles along in flip-flops, yawning widely under an enormous pair of shades just as sparkly as her foam shoes. “Oh for…You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve got bodies dying on my beds and you call your fucking girlfriend?”

“We’ve also got a victim who’s trying to communicate in an unfamiliar language and I’ve called a doctor of Theoretical Linguistics with field experience in xenolinguistics who was fifteen minutes away and willing to consult with us. Was that or was that not what you wanted Owen?” Ianto watches Jack wipe the scowl off his face and step around the water tower, smiling at Cheyenne who doesn’t say anything. Simply shrugs the black bag higher on her shoulders and follows Jack towards the invisible lift. “Gwen, if you’re not running labs for Owen or Tosh, take a break and come take Indiana in my office so Doctor Morgan can get set up. Toshiko, take the lab back so Ianto can come get her set-up somewhere. Ianto?”

“On my way, Sir.” Tosh comes through the door, glasses perched on her head and pens holding her salt crunchy hair up in a bun. She’s got her mug in one hand and she’s swimming in the sweater he left crumpled in the bottom of his locker this morning.

“Stole this. I’m bloody freezing and the one I left here has something strange on it, possibly oil, but it might be sap from that exploding plant of Owen’s. I’ve got these now, thanks.”

Gwen’s already got Indiana scooped up in her arms, Cheyenne’s slouchy black bag over her shoulder by the time Ianto makes it up to the main floor.

“He should go right back to sleep once he has a bottle. Sorry about this, but not a lot of chances to find a sitter in twenty-four hours, especially one for three am. Wow, this place is _actually_ a batcave. I always thought that was just nerd boys making nerd jokes.” Cheyenne tips her shades up onto the top of her head, lips pursed as she looks around at the floor. “This set up isn’t going to work for me. I’m going to need at least two walls, a shit ton of post-it notes, access to any audio of the language in question, a fuckton of outlets, and my own pot of fucking coffee because I am exhausted and I’ll be up and running in ten.”

“Five would be better. Ianto’s going to set you up in…” Jack cuts his eyes across the open floor plan. “the conference room. Anything you don’t have, let him know, He’ll bring you up to speed, I’ll be back to finish briefing you as soon as you’re set up.”

“Follow me please.” She lets him lift the surprisingly heavy rolling bag and follows him up to the conference room, nodding as he turns on the lights and the back wall goes opaque, identification screen scrolling up. “I’m just going to get you some basic temporary access set up. Go ahead, start getting whatever you need laid out and if you let me know what you don’t have, I’ll get it from the stationery cupboard on the way to get you a coffee.”

“Two colors of post-its and extra shots on the coffee if you can. Thanks.” She’s already got her laptop booting up in his normal seat, laying out pads of paper, tape recorders, and a battered black leather book. “So, you’re the office manager?”

“And archivist, repair man, and creature tamer. There’s only five of us, we wear a lot of hats. This is just finishing. Say your name when it asks and write down the passcode it gives you because if you don’t, it won’t regenerate a new one and I can’t help you with that. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

By the time he gets back with a stack of pink and yellow post-its and a travel mug full of coffee Jack is leaning over her shoulder, using his wrist strap to sync her onto the network

“So we’ve got abdominal trauma on the two juveniles, one of whom is looking critical and we don’t know a thing about them. Whatever language she’s trying to speak, she doesn’t know it well. If you can identify it, great. If you can translate, better, if you can just narrow it down to a region, I’ll take what we can get right now.”

“Gottcha. Give me one of those headsets and I’ll call you when I’ve got something.”

***

“Okay, you want the good news or the shitty news, because I’ve got both for you.” Cheyenne’s voice is tired over the line.

“Oh, let’s have a tiny bright spot before you crush it.” They’re more than two and a half hours past the time Jack pulled the first one from the water, a little more than an hour since Chy settled into the conference room. Owen sounds battered and the last time Ianto stuck his head into the main theater the tiny body on the table was pale and almost still, breaths coming in shallow pants.

“So the good news is, it took a while to be able to hear past the accent on different letters than we typically use, but that is definitely Chinese. It’s a lesser spoken dialect, a branch off a branch, but it’s definitely a version of Jiao-Liao Mandarin.” Gwen nudges him with her elbow where they’re side by side monitoring Owen’s drug reaction tests.

“She’s as good as she says she is, isn’t she?”

“Okay, that’s good. So, what, you don’t speak whatever you just said? Should I be calling UNIT’s Shangdong division?”

“No call for rudeness, of course I speak it. It’s a Mandarin dialect that I’m more than capable of handling with a minimum of word loss. The problem is I need to see her because something like every seventh or eighth word is complete horseshit. Never heard anything like it, and the tenses keep skipping around. I don’t know…This isn’t modern Chinese. This is an evolution of the language and this is going to be rough, guys. I’m going to do my best, but I can’t promise any better than sixty or so percent certainty on what I come up with.”

“We’ll take sixty. Bring your stuff; I’m coming up to get you. Owen, get whatever you need, we’re heading in to try getting some answers.”

It’s a longer, slower process than Ianto thought it would be, sitting alone in the trauma room keeping an eye on the two tiny figures hooked up to a plethora of machines all spewing out incomprehensible readings and listening to Jack, Cheyenne, and Owen over the open coms as they work in quarantine room one. Their voices, which had risen into a high triumphant babble when Cheyenne came in speaking softly, are quiet and tired now. Apparently tenses and evolution are the least of Chy’s issues trying to translate alien tissues and organs to Owen in between soothing sounds in Chinese and sometime violent volleys of foul language when she can’t figure something out.

“She doesn’t _understand_ Owen! Neither of us have any fucking idea what a scaphoid abdomen is, and quite frankly I think she’s still kind of hazy on _tummy_ , all right? Slow down and get me an x-ray or something we can draw on. If you draw me a picture, and talk like we’re both stupid, I can figure out some way to make this work.”

“Because which of you is it that’s going to know what they’re looking at?”

“Well, gee, hopefully it’s _you_ Owen or I can translate words that don’t exist yet until the cows come home and it won’t mean a fucking thing, will it?”

“All right, both of you stop it. We’re taking fifteen. Owen, go check your labs, see if anything’s come up clear for pain relief. Maybe we’ll have better luck if she can concentrate on something other than a nasty break in nothing but an air cast. Do what you can and then fifteen down. You’re starting to get in your own way. Also, I’m starving. Ianto, what’s open?”

“McDonalds, Jack. The same thing that’s open and quick every time you’re bloody starving at a quarter to…Jesus, is it really a quarter to five?”

“Yes it is, and we’re feeding the crew. Cheyenne, let her know we’re taking a break to check on medicine and we’ll be back as fast as possible.”

“Mute that goddamned thing and listen to me very carefully Jones.” Owen stalks into the room, headset lights shining red for muted. His face is a black storm as he stands between the two beds, arms crossed over his chest. Ianto lifts one brow curiously, even as he lifts one hand and mutes his ear piece, tuning out the sound of Chy’s voice.

“What? And if you had me mute it to get your order, it’s going to be the same thing it is every time we’re stuck eating breakfast at McDonalds so you’re wasting my time.”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s always three McGriddles and a hash brown. You obviously don’t have the brains to see this yourself, so let me say it very slowly. Get her away from here as fast as you can. Jack is used to getting what he wants, and Gwen’s ready to put the bloody logo on a sleeper and make Indiana our mascot, so let me be the voice of fucking reason. If anyone should know what a bad idea this is, it’s you and me. Your girlfriend at Torchwood is a bad idea and it _will_ end exactly the way you’re thinking it will.”

He’s not sure what he’s planning on responding with, not when he can’t decide if Owen’s ‘advice’ is pissing him off or really pissing him off, but the point is rendered invalid when Jack sticks his head into the doorway, credit card in hand and Cheyenne leaning against the wall opposite the door.

“Ianto, breakfast?”

“On my way.” He stands and stretches until he feels his back pop, veering wide around Owen to take the plastic from Jack’s hand. 

“Good. Cheyenne, go with him.” Her eyes narrow and she clenches her fists, smiling coldly.

“If you’d _really_ rather pay my ridiculously high fee, and I’m _awfully_ expensive, to send me for hash browns instead of going back to the conference room to keep working on this, it’s your dime Jack.” 

Jack shrugs as he lets Ianto slide by him, heading off towards the garage bay as they follow behind.

“Yes, it is. Down time is exactly that. Overworked brains miss things fresh ones don’t. Besides, you can’t be that expensive. Don’t forget to get something for you and Indy, it’s on the expenses account.”

“Oh, I will.” She blinks owlishly as the door to the garage opens, tipping her shades down over her eyes at the glare from the sodium lights overhead. “And you should probably call Human Resources at SHIELD if you don’t believe just how much I charge.” Her shoes make a soft smacking, slapping rhythmically between her feet and the concrete as she follows Ianto out to his car, tucked between Owen’s and the SUV, closest to the exit. Her oversized rhinestone shades glint at him as he leans around her, unlocking the door and opening it, but she doesn’t say anything as she slides inside. Not until he’s behind the wheel, closing his own door behind himself.

“You are sure those aliens aren’t dangerous, right? Because if I come back with sausage biscuits to find they ate my kid, I will _not_ be pleased.”

“Leaving aside the fact that two are critically injured and haven’t woken up yet, the big one might weigh four stone. If she gets frisky, Jack won’t even have to shoot her, just punt her across the room like a football.” He looks over at her from the corner of his eye and she’s not smiling. “Last time I checked the cctv feed, someone had pulled out the couch in Jack’s office and he’s tucked between Gwen and Tosh and both of them are armed. In the exceedingly unlikely event that there’s a potential for violence, they’re going to have to go through Jack, Owen, Tosh, and Gwen before they get close to Indiana. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her shoulders relax and he slides the key into the ignition, pulling out of his spot and heading up towards the exit. “I really kinda knew that, but, you know, new mother’s paranoia is an ugly thing apparently and mine is kinda in over drive. You know, with aliens, and tigers, and monkeys…”

“Monkeys?”

“Fucking hate monkeys. They grab, pinch, steal, push…bite. And they’re filthy things with diseases. Any time Indy wasn’t in my arms, the shutters had to be closed, even though it was hotter than hell, because I was convinced monkeys were going to come in the window and bite him. Had nightmares about it and everything.” You can’t see the false wall projection from this side of it, but Ianto makes a note to tell her about it this time.

“Well, we definitely don’t have monkeys. We do have a dinosaur though. Thought I should probably warn you before we come back with breakfast and she comes flying down begging for hash browns.”  
“You have a dinosaur that eats hash browns?” The sky is starting to go indigo as they pull out into the street. “Like, what kind of dinosaur, because if you have a velociraptor back there I actually _do_ need you to turn around now. I saw that show on NatGeo.”

“I have a pterosaur who likes her hash browns dipped in hot fudge sauce. You’ve met her before, so if she shuffles around behind you making a chucking sound, don’t get jumpy. It just means she’s imprinting.”

“I don’t need your dinosaur imprinting on me, because I still haven’t decided if I’m taking the job yet.”

“You got out of bed and brought the baby with you at three in the morning for a job you don’t want?” The streets are clear in a way they rarely are in Cardiff, the clubbers all safely tucked away at their after parties or sleeping it off, the early morning workers just starting to head out. Cheyenne has her window cracked, and the sea breeze ruffling her hair is the only sound from outside.

“I got out of bed and dragged Indy with me because as a mother I cannot imagine anything more terrifying than being snatched to an alien world with my baby hurt and no one knows how to help him because they can’t understand us. I did it because she needs someone to help her children. Not because you and Jack are looking for a reason to keep Indiana close by.”

“Damnit, Cheyenne, it’s more than that! It’s more than Indiana, okay. Even if you take Torchwood and Jack’s stupid offer off the table, I still wanted to ask you to stay, alright? I’ve been tripping over myself for days trying to figure out how to ask you to consider being closer, or maybe around more or something.” The streets may be almost empty, but there’s a line at the drive in window five cars deep. Ianto pulls behind a Honda with its rear bumper caved in, hoping the sickly yellow light from the glowing arches covers the hot flush he can feel on his face. “This isn’t how I wanted to have this conversation.”

“You mean at the McDonalds drive-through?” She’s got a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, the first he’s seen from her since this entire coming clean debacle began.

“I mean with you angry at me.” They’re creeping closer to the order post. “I don’t know what you want to hear Chy. What do you want me to apologize about?”

“Nothing, that’s the problem! It’s not really _you_ I’m mad at Ianto, it’s the situation! I’m mad at your job because it seems like this kind of life is following me, no matter how far away I go. I’m mad because we both know it’s gonna kill you, and not when you’re seventy, but you’re never going to quit because saving the world feels _good_. Even if no one else ever knows. I’m _livid_ at myself because I keep actually considering Jack’s offer and yeah tonight’s not helping. You guys don’t just need a linguist, you need an entire freakin staff.”

“Jack doesn’t want a big staff. It…long story. Hold on.” The track for his window needs to be greased at the garage because it’s trying to stick as he rolls it down. “Hi. I need four McMuffins, three McGriddles, one order of hotcakes, two breakfast platters, one sausage and one bacon…Chy?” She looks both appalled and amused at the order.

“Sausage and cheese for me. Yoghurt for Indiana.”

“One sausage biscuit with cheese, four fruit and yoghurt cups, three apple pies, five orange juices, fifteen hash browns, and a cup of hot fudge sauce.”

“Hullo Ianto, pull up please.”

“The kid at the drive through knows you by your order?”

“Oh yeah.” The cashier is young, jade green eyes sleepy as he leans out and takes the credit card. “We all do. He always orders a lot of hash browns with hot fudge. It’s not all that bad, I guess.” He passes the card and slip back. “Pull to the side, we’ll run it out as soon as it’s ready.”

Cheyenne is trying not to grin as he pulls the car under the lamp post closest to the street, twisting in her seat so that she’s watching him.

“Why on earth did you order fifteen hash browns?”

“Because Myfanwy will eat eight of them.”

“So, does she get the McMuffins or the McGriddles?” She tucks her knees up under herself, resting her head on the arm draped behind the headrest.

“Neither. They all belong to Jack and Owen respectively. Don’t look directly at them when they chew, you’ll go blind.” 

“Charming. So, you were mentioning that Jack doesn’t like leading a big team?”

The pre-dawn darkness is a silent shroud around them as he tells her about Torchwood. How their branch was set up as an active emergency outpost in the eighteen hundreds, built around the excavated remains of a large ship’s mainframe to monitor the rift in Cardiff. About the tower at Canary Wharf and how they used to handle all the things she’s used to, the science and cultural aspects, and then how it ends; pausing only when the kid from the drive through comes out with two large plastic bags filled with food and starting again as soon as she’s got the drinks settled on her lap and they start back towards the quay. Her hand creeps over towards his knee, squeezing as he skims over the destruction of London.

“That’s why our team’s so small. We’re literally all that’s left, us and Archie up in Scotland at the manor, and it works. We do fine. Holographic wall coming up.” The fact that she flails desperately for the door handle without spilling the drinks is kind of funny. The face she makes when they drive through it into the tunnel is even funnier. “Also, not like we can have a job faire to fill the positions. Kind of goes against the ‘need to know’ creed.”

“It’s called Head Hunting. Poach from other government agencies. Hell, steal from other ET units. You have a basketball net in a stupid place, a dinosaur, and an invisible rock on hydraulics inside your very own steam punk bat cave; nerds will cream themselves to jump ship.”

“I don’t know, you’re a pretty big nerd and you’re not thrilled with the prospect.” He cuts the engine as he pulls into his spot, going around to dig Cheyenne out from under roughly a ton of fast food and he has to admit it’s awfully nice not to have to juggle everything and swipe his key at the same time.

“Well, that’s because I’ve been on the wrong side of it and I’m holding a grudge.” Her voice begins to trail off, footsteps slowing as her eyes dart from Ianto’s face to the walls. “I mean, you, um, I think you would know, would know what with Lisa…where am I? Exactly, because this looks…”

“Lisa? What…Cheyenne, hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” She’s frozen in mid step, carrier bags hanging limply from her hands as she cocks her head as if listening to something far away. Ianto jerks his hand up to his ear.

“Jack? Jack, I think Cheyenne’s breaking her retcon. Do I need to call Owen?”

“Now? _Really_? Perfect. Um, no. No. Just sit her down in case the reintegration makes her dizzy. I’ll be right there, but she should be done before I make it.” She sits easily when Ianto presses down on her shoulder, but looks just past his left ear, blinking too fast with her head still tilted.

“You told me…something. You told me something about Lisa. What did you tell me about Lisa, Ianto? I…it’s right fucking _there_ I can, I c-can almost hear it.” He’s never seen anyone actually break retcon before. He knows Gwen has done it before, he was present for both the before and after, but the actual process is kind of creepy. He can see her reacting to things only she can see, baffled little changes in her expression as she speaks, like she almost knows what’s happening. “Ianto, what did you tell me about, about Lisa?”

“I told,” More than a year later and sometimes saying it still feels like being kicked. “I told you how Lisa died. Here.”

“Oh.” It’s a long whispered exhale as Cheyenne closes her eyes and just breathes for a moment. Her eyes, when she opens them, focus on him steadily. “Oh yeah. Oh, sweetheart, how are you always in some shit?”

“Some of us are just born lucky. Come on, you’re fine, up you get before the food congeals.” She stands smoothly, but her hands are still on his forearms when Jack rounds the corner and her fingers dig sharply in as she freezes. “Ow.”

“Huh, oh. Sorry. Hey there Jack.”

“Don’t start panicking right now, every one already knows and I really need you focused on your work, not on me. Okay? Also, your son is awake and keeps making faces like he’s working up to a truly spectacular load, so you may want to hurry up and eat fast.”

***

Gwen, saintly woman that she is, has Indiana cleaned and bouncing on her knee by the time they reach the conference room. She’s sipping at a cup of coffee one handed while Tosh wanders around looking at the cascade of sticky notes covered in strange characters and ever weirder shorthand, branching off of other clusters and cascades in different colors.

“Right, I see Tosh is studying the case, as is Owen,” The medic doesn’t look up from his pile of papers to shoot Jack a rude gesture. “Which means Gwen is the only one following the fifteen down and not working. Gwen, give the baby to Owen. He can’t eat, hold an infant, _and_ read his reports at the same time. Actually, here, I‘ll do it.” Jack sets the food roughly on the table furthest away from Cheyenne’s set up. “Come here, you. Go see grumpy old Owen.”

“Don’t you fucking dare Harkness.” Owen refuses to look up as Jack scoops Indiana up and comes around the table, looming over him with baby in hand. “Piss off Jack, I have work to do and I’m not playing with the baby instead of doing it.”

“You haven’t stopped despite direct orders to take fifteen down. You _will_ stop long enough to eat and I obviously cannot trust you to do that with one hand free. Take. The. Baby.”

“I bet no one menaces the medical staff at UNIT with babies.” Owen is scowling as he reaches up and takes Indiana, tucking him up against his shoulder. “Teaboy, give me my food so I can give this back to his bloody mother.” 

They manage to make it five minutes before Jack kicks his chair back and prowls over to the wall of post its, absently stuffing enormous bites in his mouth.

“All right, here’s where we are. We’ve got open dialogue with the adult and she is, in fact, the mother of the two traumas downstairs. She understands that she is not in her proper quadrant or time zone, that we are trying to help, and that unfortunately we have no idea what to do. Doctor Morgan, what‘s your take on it?”

“The problem isn’t just a language breakdown, and we are _totally_ having an issue there, but the fact that apparently the average alien is a lot like the average human being; thusly, they have no fucking idea what they’re actually made of.” Cheyenne is spooning yoghurt into a bottle of formula as she speaks, snagging Indy back from Owen as she shakes the liquid. “She is definitely not a doctor, whoever she is. She can give me an untranslatable word for an organ she can’t describe which does a function she’s not sure of. I’m hoping if we bring her an x-ray or something, she can help us label what she knows. From where I am, our best case scenario, we get lucky and she knows something. Worst, we know what the problem isn’t.”

“No, sweetheart, that’s far from the worst. The worst is that we are wasting our fucking time because at this point there is nothing I can do for either of them. The one bleeding out would have been dead hours ago if it was human, but respiration is failing and the skin color is paling and I can’t transfuse it because I have nothing to use. I’m seeing a size difference in the brains of that one and the smallest one on the x-rays that makes me think I’m looking at intracranial swelling on the second trauma. Something I wouldn’t be qualified to mess about with even if I _was_ treating a human child. At this point…we need to focus our attention on what we can do for the mother. Get her fixed up and in with them so she can say her goodbyes.”

***

They move the mother out of quarantine room one, setting her bed between the other two gurneys, locking it into place at a twenty after five; carefully arranging the two small still bodies against her at her request so that she can rest her hands on the two shallowly breathing chests. The sounds she makes are small crooning cries and trills as she traces the curves of their faces.

At five twenty-five she links her hands with the two tiny figures tucked in on either side of herself and says something that has Cheyenne’s face lighting up, repeating it again helpfully when Chy fishes out her phone and points the microphone at her.

“I think we’ve got something. I need to call someone to verify. Jack, come wake up someone in China for me.”

By five forty-two, Cheyenne is back and Owen is off to the labs as fast as he can with a slip of paper clutched in his fist; the chemical formula for something they must actually have, scrawled in Cheyenne’s neat girlish handwriting on it.

At six am, Ianto helps Owen load the last body into the morgue and scrubs his hands before wandering up towards Jack’s office. Cheyenne is curled into the furthest corner of the unfolded sleeper couch, Indiana in her lap as she stares down at him, running the back of her fingers over the curve of his cheek. 

“Did I do that? I’m pretty sure I was right. I ran it through two translators and a lab tech in China…”

“No. That wasn’t your fault. That was…that happens sometimes. It, uh, it happens more than you’d think actually. Jack says it’s the most frightening feeling you’ve ever known, being lost like that, and then they were all hurt so badly…there wasn’t anything else we could have done for them. Here, make room.” Ianto kicks himself out of his work boots, stepping over the arm of the couch to wrap his arms around her, tucking her under the curve of his arm as he opens his line. “Jack, I’m taking fifteen in your office.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” She doesn’t cry, just tucks her head under his chin and breathes slowly, fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt as he strokes her hair and tries not to think about all the paperwork he has to fill out now. Requisitions for a UNIT recovery boat and team, incident reports, figuring out how to number and log that mess of papers Cheyenne has up on the walls and then walking her through the consultation paperwork, none of which he’s actually ever filled out before. He’s pretty sure the forms are in the small filing cabinet behind Jack’s desk marked ‘I’, which is apparently for ‘I don’t give a shit’ since there’s never any rhyme or reason for half the papers Ianto finds in there.

“All right, I’m uh, I’m done now. Thanks.” She uncurls slowly, slumping back against him as she shifts Indiana up onto her shoulder. “So, we should probably get started on getting my findings logged. I’m sure you’ve got one of those sets of civilian authorization paperwork for me, and those always take forever to fill out, so if I’m going to get home at any kind of decent hour, we should probably get going on that.”

“Ha, I kind of forgot you probably know what comes next better than I do. I’ve never actually done a consultation report.” Ianto slides off the couch and steps on the end to keep the pull out steady as Cheyenne steps off, digging through the ‘I’ cabinet as she bundles Indiana back into the scarlet sling. By the time he comes up with the right form, Chy’s already stepped back into her shoes and is looking out the doorway down onto the rift manipulator.

“It looks different than last time I was here.”

“We had some problems with the rift. Did some structural damage, so we sort of remodeled since we were already at it. Come on, let’s get going so you can get out of here.” Cheyenne follows him across the catwalks heading directly towards the covered wall as soon as they step into the glass room.

“All right, there’s actually a very specific way I set up my parse trees when dealing with a multi step translation like this one. It makes it a bitch to log away, but I number each set anal retentively as I work, so show me how you file your cases for archiving, and I’ll get them dissembled correctly.”

She’s not kidding about a very specific system. They’ve been filling out paperwork for fifteen minutes now, and even with her ongoing explanation of what she’s doing, half of what she’s saying is making no sense at all. The tiny string of shorthand across the bottom of each note looks like nothing more than a jumbled mess of letters and numbers tucked underneath neatly sketched characters and more shorthand. Each cluster is being affixed to individual sheets of paper in an incomprehensible pattern that _almost_ has Ianto hoping she’ll accept the job, because if Jack ever needs this file for any reason, Ianto has no idea how he’ll read it.

“Hey kids,” Jack ducks through the door, flopping roughly in his chair. “I thought I’d poke my head in, see how everything’s coming with you two?”

“Still breaking down the wall. It takes a while to log and label everything the way I do it.”

“I’ve filled out as much of the clearance forms as I can, but you’re going to need to do the rest of it yourself, Sir. And the exit interview. I’m waiting on Tosh to compile the lab results, which should be a couple of hours still, and Gwen’s primary incident report is almost done; she gave me an ETA of half an hour twenty minutes ago and if you want to finish up here I’ll go call UNIT and put in a request for a salvage team as soon as I’m done.”

“You’re fantastic Ianto. Cheyenne, give me Indiana so I have an excuse not to move no matter what my team wants.”

“Are you serious?” She looks up at him from where she’s bent over printing a heading and sub heading on one of the evidence sheets. Jack doesn’t even pretend to be joking, just flops his head back over the neck rest with his arms stretched in front of him, hands grasping greedily.

“I am serious in ways I don’t have words for. I am exhausted. I did three deep water rescues tonight, and I’ve got a day full of phone calls waiting to start. I need half an hour, and my ticket to peace is tied to you. Give him up.” Jack sighs in satisfaction as Cheyenne rolls her eyes and removes Indy’s sling, kicking his feet up into the closest chair as Chy settles the baby across his chest. “Oh, there we go. That’s about eighteen pounds of not-my-problem right there. Your mother doesn’t have to come work for me Indiana. I’ll just hire you. Part time; I’ll decide I’m done doing things and you’ll lay right there and make everyone leave us alone. Entry level pay, expense account, two weeks holiday a year.”

“Don’t listen to Jack, we’re never staffed high enough to take your two weeks. The winner of a pool gets theirs during the June lulls and the rest of us take it in four or more long weekends.” Jack huffs and sinks further down into the two chairs, thumping his foot against the backrest of the one his legs are propped on.

“Nooo, I don’t want to talk about staffing again Ianto. Don’t you see my shield? We are resting.”

“Well then, while you’re resting, would you like to explain to me why I’ve got my missing days back without that antidote you said I needed?” Cheyenne is watching him over her shoulder as she takes down another brightly colored cluster from the wall.

“Okay, obviously the two of you are missing the point of using the child as a deterrent to being bothered. I was actually counting on your assistance you know, an unimpressed look or two, a couple short but graphic threats about waking the baby…no? Fine. Some people are less susceptible to retcon than others, and more likely to break it if confronted with a related stimuli. The main part of the Hub changed just enough not to do it, but the loading dock is how you got in last time and it was enough to set off a chain reaction that undid the multi-part chemical dissociation that was formed in your brain.”

“You’re showing off, Sir.”

“I’m an awful human being when I’m tired Ianto, you know that. I’m too tired to talk the science down without sounding smug. Be smart for me.” Cheyenne has a hint of a smile on the corner of her mouth as she continues to work and Ianto tries to explain how trigger recalls work with Jack butting in to give absurd examples any random time he feels like it until finally just cutting him off all together. “Ianto, that was an awful explanation, and that digression comparing triggers to ‘hey Jude’ was completely unhelpful.”

“Well yes, I did try to tell you that when you butted in with it Sir.” Jack cracks one eye, grinning slyly at Cheyenne who’s pretending to ignore them.

“So you did. See, smug and awful when I’m tired.”

“If this is your idea of wooing employees, I’m surprised you have the quality of agents that you’ve got.”

“I’m just irresistible. Got a fax in from SHIELD before I came in here. That’s not actually what you charge, is it?” Ianto looks up from his tablet where he’s attaching the edited version of the crash to the UNIT forms. Cheyenne puts her pen down and props her chin in the palm of her hand, smiling sweetly enough to make Ianto nervous.

“Oh, not anymore. That pay contract was negotiated when I was much younger. I have better references, published findings in the public and military sectors, and a doctorate in Theoretical Linguistics. That price has gone up forty percent, minimum.”

“You’re kidding me. That’s robbery Dr. Morgan.” The fact that Jack sounds genuinely annoyed only seems to make her smile harder.

“There are all sorts of advantages to being one of very few unaffiliated people in my field. Price gouging is one of them. Makes people think twice about calling me in for just any little problem. Luckily for you, that’s just my emergency fee. If I affiliate with the Torchwood institute my rates are up for negotiation. If you can find me a copy of your contracts, I’ll take a look at them and make notes of any adjustments I’d need.” It’s been coming, but Ianto still grits his teeth and forces his hand not to lock around the stylus. “We’ll do a lunch, talk counter offers some time in the next couple of days and there’s your parse tree logged. I’ll send you a mini lesson on using it in case someone else needs to get into it since this is a variation I came up with for dealing with alien translations.”

“Excuse me, sorry,” Gwen raps on the door as she sticks her head into the room, a fat stack of papers in her hand. “Jack, I’ve got the…”

“Nope. Sorry, can’t help you. I am officially on my break, see the baby?” He doesn’t even bother opening his eyes, just gestures at Indiana sleeping on his chest.

“He’s having an obnoxious and unprofessional moment Gwen. I’ve got the rest of the incident report right here. Don’t suppose you have Owen’s reports, do you?”

“Oh, you mean his post-it note that says ‘see Medical Officers report for details’,” Gwen scowls as she pulls a neon green sticky note from her folder, waving it at them. “I _do_ have that actually. I also have the message that he’s gone home and will be back in time for the noon incursion. Jack, can you drop your baby force field long enough to tell me if _I_ can go home or not?”

“Can you stick around another half hour to help Ianto wrap up the logging and requisitions while I finish up with Cheyenne?”

“Just half an hour Jack or the only thing I’ll be shooting later is my own foot. Come on Ianto, let’s get this done and go home. Thanks for the help Cheyenne.”

Frankly, Ianto can’t believe Gwen manages to make it all the way to the bottom of the stairs before digging her fingers into his forearm, yanking him hard enough towards the kitchen that he’s a bit surprised that she doesn’t actually take him off his feet. Toshiko is waiting on the back counter, the one he had to designate a butt-friendly zone to keep people from sitting on just any surface. She’s already sipping at a cup, looking small and sleepy in his far too large for her sweater, her glasses threatening to slip off the top of her head every time she leans too far forward.

“Jack’s offering her a job, isn’t he?” Ianto scowls and maybe slams his mug around a bit as he makes a cup of almost too old coffee for himself. 

“They are discussing contract negotiations for an affiliated consulting position, whatever the hell that is.” Tosh scoots more towards the left, making room for Gwen to hop up on one side and Ianto to lean back in the middle, shoulders pressed between their hips.

“Oh, she’s good. An affiliated consulting position puts her under the umbrella of Torchwood without actually incorporating her in as an active member. It’s an overly complicated way of putting her on retainer.” Toshiko pauses, fiddling with her mug. “It’s just, and I’m sorry Ianto I know it’s none of my business, but don’t you think it’s a bit irresponsible of her?”

“Of course I do, but I already had this fight once today when Jack offered her the position after dinner. I thought it was asinine when he brought it up then, but what am I supposed to do about it Tosh, _forbid_ it? Because I already veered a little too close to that territory and she did her nut. She was livid. I just can’t find the right words to get across the fact that Torchwood _kills us_ and I don’t really want her near it without sounding like I’m dismissing the fact that she knows what she’s doing.  
I know that she’s more than capable to do the job, and I understand that she’s actually been doing that longer than I’ve been doing this, but quite frankly I don’t care. I don’t want her here the next time a great devourer walks, or someone like John Hart gets in here. I don’t want her any-fucking-where near it. It‘s just, it isn‘t my choice, is it? She knows what all this is, just as well as any of us. I wasn’t so worried before that, she _hated_ the idea earlier for all the same reasons, especially Indiana. Walked out over it, actually and now she’s talking contracts.” Gwen reaches over, patting his shoulder sympathetically. “I shouldn’t have called her. It didn’t do anyone any good in the end. We should have followed protocol and called UNIT, but I just…I thought we might have a chance to save at least one of them if we were quick enough.”

“Well, I live on that side of town anyway. Radyr’s only ten minutes or so past. I’ll give her a ride home and see if I can find out what changed her mind. Ianto, send me the salvage forms and I’ll finish those up while you go file the report and we can get home. You coming Tosh?”

“No, I’m going to stay here in case something comes up, so someone tell Jack I’m sleeping on his couch instead of going home and don’t forget this time. Last time, no one told him and he sat on me.”

***

The Hub is quiet by the time Ianto makes it back up from filing the backup copies of the report and all the original evidence. The glow from the fairy lights and computer monitors seem to float in the gloom or the cavernous main floor, the only other light the soft illumination of the antique lamp next to Jack‘s desk. From where he’s standing he can see Jack sitting at the top of the stairs to his office, rubbing tiredly at his face.

“Ianto, glad I caught you. Would you mind staying, actually? We’ve got all those conference calls this morning and the expense reports need to get done this week, but after the rift burst I’ll send you and Toshiko home for the day.”

Ianto’s dead on his feet, so tired he’s almost sure it would be impossible for him to sleep anyway.  
“Yes sir.”

“Good. Thanks. Come on up, get some sleep, and we’ll get started in a few hours.” He follows Jack up to the office and they both pretend not to notice his hesitation before Ianto settles lightly on the edge of the pullout to begin picking at the laces on his boots. “I’ll see you in the morning Ianto.” Jack hangs his coat carefully on the rack next to the door, brushing down the sleeves one last time before leaning over and turning out the lamp. There’s just enough light seeping in from below to make Jack a darker shadow among the others as he navigates familiarly between his desk and the foot of the sofa bed to the door to his room, disappearing into the bunker and leaving Ianto staring into the dark.

Half an hour later he’s _still_ staring past the glass walls of the office into the blackness. Next to him, Tosh is wrapped in every one of the blankets and sprawled across most of the mattress. She doesn’t so much as stir when Ianto slides out of the bed and picks his way carefully towards the entrance to Jack’s room.

“Jack?” Ianto crouches next to the manhole, feeling for the edge and pitching his voice low enough to hopefully not disturb the older man if he’s actually asleep. “Are you up?”

“Shh, come here.” Perching on the lip of the edge, Ianto swings his legs down into the darkness and braces himself for Jack to reach out of the darkness and wrap warm hands around his ankles, but it still startles him for a moment. Ianto drops softly inside, standing on the bed long enough to pull the hatch closed behind himself before slumping down next to the reclined shadow next to him, rolling easily into the older man’s arms as Jack reaches out and tugs him closer. Jack wraps around him, breath hot on the back of his neck, cold fingers already having made their way under the hem of his shirt to rest splayed across the skin on his stomach. “I hoped you’d change your mind and come down.”

There’s nothing Ianto can think to say to that, not when Jack’s lips are brushing against the soft skin under his ear and Jack’s fingers are carding through the line of silky black hair disappearing down into Ianto’s jeans. Instead Ianto goes limp, rolling his head down to bare the line of his throat to Jack’s nibbling mouth and arching his hips back to meet the slow grinding rhythm the immortal man is setting.

It’s almost pitch black under Jack’s office; dark enough that when Ianto looks down he can’t see the hand working its way with ease past his belt, or the way Jack’s knuckles are pressing his zipper down one notch at a time from the inside as he slides his hand inside Ianto‘s jeans, but he can hear it. The swish of leather and the slow clicking of the metal teeth unlocking are loud over the soft heavy sound of their breathing. The calluses on the pads of Jack’s fingers catch and drag against his skin as they wrap around Ianto’s cock.

“Jack.” The gasp feels as loud as a shout and they both freeze, perfectly still and twisted together, listening intently for any sign that their voices have carried for what seems like entirely too long before Jack begins snickering. “Shut up, you’re going to wake Tosh!” The hissed whisper loses most of its venom to the trembling running through him as the older man muffles his laughter by sinking his teeth into the nape of Ianto’s neck. “Oh!”

“I’m not the one who’s going to wake up Toshiko.” That mark on his neck is not even going to be a hickey, just a deep perfect imprint of Jack’s teeth sunk into the soft skin. “Shhh.” Easy for Jack to say when he's not the one pinned under slightly less than two hundred pounds of solid muscle with fingers trailing entirely too lightly over his cock, jeans tangled around his thighs, and teeth marks throbbing in the crook of his neck. Behind him, Jack shudders as Ianto's attempt to kick out of his jeans grinds the fullest curve of his ass against him. Ianto knocks his ankle against the ladder kicking his jeans off his ankle and can't bite back the yelp that breaks off into a moan when Jack straddles him, pressing a hand across his mouth.

The air in the bunker is warm on his skin, the scent of Jack, and sex, and the sea heavy and heady. Ianto bites just too hard into the pad of Jack’s palm to feel the other man jerk against him and digs his fingers into the curve of Jack’s ass when he shoves Ianto’s tee shirt up as far as he can, closing his teeth around a nipple, nibbling and flicking until Ianto is writhing and rutting against him desperately.

The impulse to drag Jack back down against him when the older man pulls away is only held in check by the knowledge that the only thing Jack can possibly be reaching for is the top drawer of his night stand. The sound of the condom wrapper being ripped open is like Pavlov’s bell for his cock. It jerks hard enough to thump against his stomach with a sticky smack and Ianto’s very glad that Jack has one hand still over his mouth, because he’d hate to have to concentrate on keeping it down and not just on how hot it is cupping Jack’s hips and feeling every twitch and shiver as he works himself open.   
There’s just enough ambient light seeping through where Ianto has left the bunker lid cracked to silhouette Jack as he hooks one arm around the nearest rung, balancing himself as he slides down onto Ianto in one long smooth press that leaves them both frozen and panting.

He’s missed this. The hot grip of Jack around him, knees pressed into his side as he rides the boy under him, the little noises he makes that are always higher and softer than Ianto expects, no matter how often he hears them. Jack touches himself with the hand that was pressed to Ianto’s mouth, his hand a shadow on shadows as it slides across his own flesh, its placement enough to fill in the picture being painted by every off rhythm jerk and half swallowed sound.

There’s no way they’re still being as quiet as they intended to be. The sounds of skin slapping, the clicking of Jack’s wrist strap banging against the ladder, the creek and groan of the bed that has to be older than Ianto from the sound of it. There’s sweat gathering at his temples and the hollow of his throat, a thin sheen slicking Jack’s skin as Ianto tugs on him, yanking him away from the ladder to tumble forward.

“Oh shit.” There’s no room between their bodies for Jack to keep up the fast stripping jerk of his hand on his cock as Ianto slides his hand up the bucking writhing body over his, snarling his hands in the thick wave of the captain’s hair to pull him further down, tongues stroking and twined as they move together fast and hard. The heavy weight of Jack’s cock leaves warm slick trails painted across the flat of their stomachs as Ianto fucks up into him fast and hard, slamming into his prostate with a precision that leaves Jack shivering around him. “Fuck.”

He comes with his teeth sunk into the curve of Jack’s bicep and the feel of the other man shaking apart over him, spurting hot and sticky between them before slumping over to the side, plastered half across him as they catch their breath.

“You know Jack, only with you is mostly quiet sex, in the dark, on the bed a novel experience.” He can’t keep the observation to himself, not once he’s had it. Jack muffles his laughter in Ianto’s shoulder, but it’s not enough and Ianto jerks the pillow from under his head, covering his face as the manhole cover is yanked violently aside.

“All right, I was willing to try and ignore the entirely too loud sex _directly underneath me_ so that I didn’t have to go sleep on the rubbish couch out on the main floor, but I draw the line if the two of you are going to giggle like pre-pubescent girls afterwards.” He’s trying to pretend he’s not there, just part of the furniture, and it’s not particularly easy when Jack’s desperate attempt to yank the bedding out from under them isn’t doing much other than grind them together in ways that have Ianto biting his tongue and clenching the pillow with white knuckles.

“Sorry Tosh.” Jack gives up on trying to yank the blankets over them from the feel of it, sitting up instead. “Sorry, we’re done. You can close that anytime now.”

“Sure, but while I have you in a compromising position…I need Sunday afternoon off.”

“We’ve obviously gotten entirely too familiar around here.” There’s expectant silence from the other side of the pillow before Jack growls. “Fine! Sunday off, close the door!” The hatch slams down with an echoing clang and Ianto lets Jack snatch the pillow away, only halfheartedly defending himself when the older man slams him roughly with it. “Fat lot of good you were.”

“Your house, your room, your traumatized employee, your problem.” He rolls off the condom, tying it off and groping for the trashcan next to the bed, wincing as he knocks it over with a clatter and Tosh stomps on the floor over their head. “Sorry!” This would be easier if they turned on the light, something neither of them have made any attempt to do. Instead, Ianto slides further across the bed, making space for Jack directly under the ladder where he always sleeps before flopping over onto his stomach. “Think we can get enough sleep to make it worthwhile?”

“Any sleep is worthwhile.” The blankets finally come free at Jack’s tugging and Ianto tugs them up around his ears, trying to ignore the fact that settling in against Jack probably looks a lot like snuggling as limbs intertwine under piles of blankets until they’re just the tops of two heads sticking out from under a quilt that’s definitely older than Ianto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at the beginning of the year, 'Blocking your own Shot' was nominated for a Wicked award. The results come in today and I placed in my category!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to aviv_b for the nomination and congrats on your own win!


	7. Chapter 7

Jack is childish, immature, and Ianto hates him with the blazing heat of a thousand suns; something he doesn’t mind yelling through the blanket he has tugged over his face to protect him from the cold water that Jack is shaking out of his hair as he stands over him on the bed.

“The blazing heat of a thousand suns? That’s _awful_. Seriously, that sounds like over dramatic poetry from a…what do they call those overly sad children who cut themselves and listen to Bahaus?”

“Emo. And no one listens to the Bahaus anymore. God, stop bouncing the fucking bed and dripping on me! Why are you always so fucking _awake_?! Go drip on Tosh!” Jack does not ascend the ladder to bother Tosh. Instead, the bed creaks and shudders alarmingly as Jack drops to his knees over Ianto, peeling the quilt down off his head.

“You’re unusually foul this morning.” Another drop of water rolls off Jack’s hair to land cold and wet in the middle of Ianto’s back and only the broad hand splayed between his shoulder blades keeps Ianto from coming up snarling. “Sorry. Really.” The hand keeping him pinned skates up his spine, cupping the back of Ianto’s neck and digging into the tight muscles there. “You’re looking tired. How long since you had a day off? And not the other day when everyone was coming down off patches.”

“Mmm.” It’s hard to stay mad at the fingers working away at places so sore Ianto no longer even felt them. “Fifteen…no, sixteen days now. It’s fine. I traded my last two days for next Saturday so I could go see Mica’s dance-play-thingy that she’s in. She’s some kind of farm animal, but she has a solo, so she wants me to come see.” Ianto huffs into the pillow under his face, kicking the mattress in half-hearted frustration. “All right, I’m awake. I am. Get off me so I can shower and pretend I had more than…” he lifts his head slowly from the pillow and drops it back down with a groan as soon as he sees the clock. “An hour and a half of sleep.”

“You just have to make it through a couple of phone calls and an inert incursion and then you can go home and stay there the rest of today and tomorrow too. Get some sleep.” The grip on his neck eases and Jack stands, stepping onto the ladder. “But that’s later. Come on, get moving before you fall asleep again.”

***

It is one of the most miserable days Ianto has had in months. UNIT are digging their feet in over sending out a salvage crew without being allowed to scavenge the ship, Owen is a sullen snarling beast of a man, cursing at anyone who comes more than four steps down into the autopsy bay near the piles of nameless strange organs laying in clear refrigerated bins all around him, and every time he walks past Tosh has been keeping a face so straight it’s mostly a mockery of itself.

“No, I will not be granting salvage rights _or_ rights to the body. We’re obviously having a miscommunication because I’m not calling to _ask_ you for a deep water salvage team, I’m calling to _tell_ you Torchwood is requisitioning a team and equipment, that we expect it in Cardiff before start of business tomorrow, and that if it’s not then _you_ can bloody well explain to Downing street why a main shipping route is still closed off and alien metals, fuel sources, and bodies were left to sit and decomp in the goddamned bay!” Gwen pauses on her way past, face drawn down in a concerned frown and Ianto waves her away irately, focusing on the piles of papers spread around him as he taps his pen roughly on the table edge. “Yes, I think you’re right, speaking to your superior would be a fantastic idea. When you transfer me, make sure you inform Rebecca that it’s Ianto from Torchwood and that you’ve decided that you are personally the keeper of the salvage operations…yes, _Rebecca_. Oh, well isn’t that interesting. Why don’t you check on that and get back to us before twelve hundred hours with an ETA.” It’s only the fact that Gwen is still standing there, watching him, which keeps Ianto from chucking his phone across the room and cursing the air blue. “Stupid self-important little bureaucrat.”

“Okay, you’re done with paperwork for the moment. Come on pet, we’re taking a walk.” Ianto lets Gwen pull him out of his chair, simply because he doesn’t have the patience to fight her off without hurting her. Jack is in his office with the door open, sleeves rolled up around his forearms and hands clenched in his hair as he growls into the phone. “Jack, we’re taking fifteen up on the quay.” The captain doesn’t look up, just shoos them away with the papers he’s shuffling through.

The sirens on the cog door pierce into his brain as they make their way to elevator.

“I’m ready to drop Gwen, I really am, and I swear to God, whatever falls out of the rift had better be junk because I’m shooting anything that walks out on the simple principle that there’s less paperwork.” It’s chilly out, not quite enough that Ianto wants his coat, but he’s going to have to dig it out of the closet and have it dry cleaned soon.

“God, don’t shoot anything today. Owen will go ballistic if he has _another_ autopsy to do before he clears these ones.” They head over to the railings overlooking the bay. The waves are small as they lap against the sea wall, breaking against the bottom of the pier. “So, I guess that if she and Jack can come to some sort of agreement on the contract, Cheyenne’s coming on board.” Gwen snorts, flicking her hair back out of her eyes. “I didn’t even know the bloody thing was negotiable.”

“Which is why she will undoubtedly be making more money than us. Well, that and the doctorate.” A kid in an ugly green sweater and white jeans that Ianto’s pretty sure are from the junior misses department hops up onto the railing a couple yards away. Hooking his feet under the bottom bar to balance, he fishes a battered pack of cigarettes out of a pocket Ianto would have sworn was entirely too tight to hold anything that size. The kid flicks his lighter, drawing deeply to light the tip and before he thinks about it Ianto is giving the kid two quid for one. Gwen is storming towards him but Ianto has the end in his mouth, dragging deeply by the time she reaches him.

“Ianto Jones, what are you doing?! You quit a year ago!”

“Thirteen months, one week, four days. Thanks kid.” There’s still a scowl on Gwen’s face as they head back to their spot and he blows smoke rings. “Besides, it’s not like I went round to the newsstand. I bought _one_. Don’t mother me please, it’s unattractive.”

“You’ve got a head like a bear on you today. Don’t go shooting the messenger and then accuse me of unattractive behavior.”

“Sorry.” The cigarette in his mouth is not nearly as satisfying as it looked when the kid had it. If he squints and looks out to sea, he can see the patrol boats guarding the cordon that Jack set down on their way back into port, just tiny specks bobbing in and out of view. “Don’t suppose Cheyenne told you why she changed her mind?”

“Kind of. She said, ‘getting involved in this kind of mess once is bad luck, but twice is a sign’ and then muttered about some kind of devil-you-know scenario. _Then_ she told me to stop doing your snooping for you, and to tell you to call her after you’ve gotten some sleep.” There’s a tone to Gwen’s voice, like she’s steeling herself, an impression that’s reinforced by the way she’s toying with the gap between her teeth with the tip of her tongue. Ianto sighs and flicks his ash into the wind.

“Go ahead Gwen. You’re dying to, so just get it out. Free for all until I’m done with this.”

“That’s Jack’s shirt you’re wearing.”

Alright, not quite the diatribe on picking ‘those filthy cancer sticks’ back up that he was expecting.

“That’s one of Jack’s shirts and you used his shampoo. I can smell it, or I could before you lit that bloody thing.” That’s what he gets for not taking time to dig a white one out of the back of Jack’s wardrobe instead of just grabbing the first one that wouldn’t clash with his tie. “Ianto, what are you _doing_? Does Cheyenne know about this, because you can’t let her take this job if she’s expecting something from you…”

“She’s always known. They’ve _both_ always known. I’m not going to have this conversation with you Gwen. It’s none of your business. In fact.” He knocks the ember of his cigarette off into the ocean and throws the rest into rubbish bin nearby. “There. Permission to speak freely is revoked. I’ve had it up to here with the advice, opinions, and commentary everyone has felt free to dispense lately. There are already plenty of people involved without adding more.” He yanks the tourist office door open and holds it for Gwen. She’s got her hands stuffed into her pockets, face blotchy with cold and embarrassment as she squeezes by and waits for him to lock the door behind himself. “I’m not…I don’t want to snap Gwen, but I need you to not get in it. If I need you, I’ll ask. Okay?”

He’d like to say that’s the end of that when the woman smiles sheepishly and shrugs, but he knows perfectly well that as soon as she thinks he’s distracted she intends to go to Jack and start over there, but that‘s fine. As long as she stops scolding him and waits until he’s gone home, he just doesn’t care.

***

The clock next to his bed is lying to Ianto, trying to tell him that he’s slept eighteen hours and that it’s ten am. His bed is wrecked around him, a tangled mess of bedding that he lazily squirms in; arm over his eyes to block the early morning light as he tries to figure out what woke him on his first day off in more than two weeks.

“Ianto, are you home?” Cheyenne’s voice caries over the three soft knocks being delivered to his front door.

“One moment!” His clothes are scattered in a trail from the bathroom to the side of his bed. Ianto kicks himself free of the snarl of blankets, tugging on the pair of pajama bottoms still draped over the back of the chair beneath his window. “Coming!”

Cheyenne is standing, alone, on the other side of the door when Ianto gets it open. She’s got her hair pulled back in some kind of twisted braid, fingers gripping the strap on a red leather bag that looks like it’s worth approximately four months of his rent tight enough that her knuckles are as pale.

“Hey. Sorry about just showing up. I tried to call a couple times last night and this morning, but you weren’t answering…”

“No. Sorry, I uh, I turn off all the ringers but my work tone the first night after a long shift. I’m still half asleep, sorry. Come in.” There’s a hint of perfume as she brushes by him, something spicy, smoky, and subtle that she leaves on the air as she perches awkwardly on the edge of the couch. “Where’s Indiana?”

“Indy is at school. After I woke up yesterday I spent the day driving around looking at daycares. I found one that met my ridiculously high standards, but damned if I didn’t have to jump through hoops to get him in there on such short notice. I had to _name drop_ of all the tacky things, but he started this morning.”

“Well, not like you’re a stranger, just…make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

She takes him at his word. By the time Ianto steps out of the bathroom with his face washed and teeth and hair brushed she’s got her shoes set next to the couch, standing barefoot next to the sliding doors as she sips at a glass of water. The late morning sunlight brings out the warm undertones on the pale grey dress hugging her body from neck to knees and makes the clear stones at her ears and throat sparkle the way fakes don’t.

“Wow, you’re dressed up today.” She flushes and fidgets with an honest-to-god tennis bracelet. The sun hits it just right to reflect through her glass and scatter little rainbow pinpricks over the ceiling.

“Yeah, breakfast meeting. I tend to kind of princess up when I’m nervous. When in doubt, remember the Junior League.” She chuckles a little and he has no idea what she’s talking about. “I had breakfast with Jack, actually.”

“That was quick.” He’s going to need coffee for this one, maybe some breakfast himself because he’s starving. Also, maybe, he’s just not sure what to say if he looks at her.

“Yeah, well no need to sit on it when I couldn’t make a decision until he and I had spoken anyway. Best to just, get it out of the way and then do my heavy thinking.” There’s a rhythmic thumping behind him and when Ianto turns, Cheyenne is sitting on the bar picking her hair loose as she swings her feet. “I haven’t told him yes yet, or no. I wanted to talk to you first. Owen called me this morning. Congratulations, we’re parents.”

It takes a moment for the words to make sense. They hang in the air, perfectly normal English words that Ianto’s finding completely incomprehensible; mostly because there’s some _feeling_ inside him that he’s too busy trying to put a name too. Something so big and light, unknotting things inside himself he didn’t realize felt twisted, that it takes a moment for him to identify it as relief.

“We are? I mean, he is? Really?” He’s grinning, can’t help it really; just stands there like an idiot with a carton of eggs in one hand, an empty mug in the other smiling. Cheyenne looks up at him through her lashes, nodding.

“He is, and that’s why I can’t just make this decision by myself. I really kind of need your two cents because I feel like I haven’t had my feet under me for a year now, except that‘s a lie because it‘s been longer than that really. I’ve just been, I don’t know, sleepwalking. Fucking up on purpose so I have something to blame for the way I feel. But I have to stop now. I can’t keep running away half way across the planet. Not anymore, fun as it is. I can’t drag a baby through ruins, or on three day long treks up places the jeeps can’t make it. I need to settle down, stop running from shit, but I don’t know where to go.”

“The fact that you’ve said running twice makes me nervous. Cheyenne, are you in trouble?” Her laugh is strained but honest as he sets down the eggs and she lets him take her hand in his.

“No. No, not like that. I’m not hiding in the wilds with the secrets of…something sci-fi and stupid buried deep in my brains or anything. It’s just plain old running from myself kind of stuff. I could go home, but I don’t want to. I haven’t been there in so long. I spent six months before I came here renting out the house and living in my own guest house because going inside hurt. I…I don’t want to go home, but I’m not sure if I should be staying. Look at you.” She tugs her hands free, combing his hair back from his face. “This is your life and you _fit_ in it, the way I used to fit in mine. I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want to throw off the balance between you and work and I _definitely_ don’t want to come between you and Jack.”

“Well don’t tell _him_ that, you’ll break his heart.” The laugh he startles out of her is loud enough that she snorts halfway through, dropping her hands out of his hair and onto his shoulders. “Just answer me this. Why say yes now when two days ago you hated the idea?”

“Because it seems like I'm trying to outrun karma. How many people get tangled up in aliens even once in their lives? To have not just aliens, but for lack of better wording, alien hunting 'forces' come into my life _twice_ in damn near the exact same way...that's not a hint, that's a big freaking cosmic sign, man. Kind of makes it feel like I'm supposed to be doing this, like it'll just keep following me. Better to give in while I have the odds I like.”

“Come here.” She doesn’t try to squirm away or protest, lets him lift her off the bar and set her gently to her feet, clasping his hands behind her back. Her body is warm and soft against him as he holds her and under the expensive perfume her hair still smells like coconut shampoo. Her nails are pressing into his skin as she clings, breathing too deeply to be anything approaching genuine calm as she buries her face in his shoulder. “Come on. Couch and coffee. Let‘s figure out what you want to do, karma be damned.”

***

The coffee mugs have been moved to the floor to make room for the sheaves of paper spread out across the coffee table. Entire blocks of small neatly typed information have been crossed out or numbered and up and down the margins, sometimes spilling over onto the back of the page, are notes and addendum’s in Jack’s heavy scrawl and Cheyenne’s neat script.

“How on Earth did you get Jack to agree to all of this?” Ianto reaches over where Cheyenne is draped across his sprawled form, nabbing one of the more heavily edited pages and bringing it closer. It almost looks like one of those notes he used to pass in high school; the one where they’d just keep turning and flipping the page until every square inch was covered, conversations running sideways and through each other, Jack and Cheyenne having obviously passed it back and forth to keep altering details in between a verbal conversation. Sentences are started without being finished, or finished without a beginning, sometimes nothing but numbers written out. Large numbers.

“No idea. Mostly I redesigned it with the intent of being such a huge pain in the ass that _Jack_ would back out. Instead, I’ve won a lot of concessions I didn’t even really want if I take the job. Like a car. I don’t need a company car! I’m not sure you guys actually _have_ any, aside from that huge beast we parked next to yesterday morning. That was just me being a brat and hoping I was more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Well that must be a lot of trouble since you’re apparently worth a ridiculous amount to Torchwood.” The number he’s looking at is insane, more than three times his fairly substantial salary. “Not to spread tales out of school, but this is more than Owen makes.” And as the man who handles payroll, he knows that Owen earns more than he ever would in the public sector.

“Doctors of Medicine are thick on the ground compared to Doctors of Theoretical Linguistics, even if you add in experience with aliens. The rest of it was me being a brat, but _that_ is actually a really fair number for my services, and Jack knows it. I could get another ten to fifteen percent over that if I was willing to go home and work for SHIELD.”

“I’m in the wrong field.” She snickers and plucks the paper from his hand, letting it flutter back down to the table. The sunlight from the skylight is falling on the bottom of the couch, warming their entangled feet in a block of sunshine. They’re curled together, her head cradled against his chest, his hand on the small of her back. “So, that contract is better than I thought it would be, actually.” He really likes the clause that prevents her from being drafted into field work for any circumstance less than literally apocalyptic. Also the one that has her in the Hub less than part-time.

“Yeah, well my dad knows a lot about a lot and there’s not a single one of my siblings who couldn’t have gotten the same terms. I don’t know though. I think I want the position Ianto. I’m _good_ at what I do, and nothing feels so fantastic as doing something you’re really quite good at.”

“But?” There’s one coming. There’s always a but coming in sentences like that.

“But Jack.” She doesn’t seem to notice the way he freezes under her, holding his breath and waiting for the next words from her mouth. This is the issue he’s been skirting for days now and knowing it was coming has left him off kilter as he listens. “I know it’s not right, or fair, but he scares the _crap_ out of me now.”

Not what Ianto was expecting. Not completely surprising either.

“You’re scared of Jack? Did he say something?”

“Yeah. Yes he did. When he _stood up from the dead_ and told an alien it would have to go through him _again_. He’s the fucking Highlander dude, and I have seen those movies; it never ends well for anyone. I mean, I’m glad he’s not dead, I am. I _really_ like Jack. He’s funny, and sexy, and a bit of a dork, but that’s _frightening_ Ianto. I saw him come back and nothing about it looked good. Was it a one-time thing or does that happen a lot? What happened to him?”

“Oh, that’s…you’d have to talk to Jack about that, Cheyenne. It wasn’t anything Torchwood did, if that’s what you’re worried about. He was immortal when he joined.” She tips her head up, looking at him out of those huge brown eyes.

“You thought I was going to say something different about Jack being the problem.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear about Jack. I don’t know what you want from me Cheyenne. Not when it comes to this _thing_ between us. All of us. I keep waiting for you to say something, I guess. To give me some kind of clue what you want from me.”

“You mean you keep waiting for me to ask you to choose between him and me?” Her laughter isn’t as reassuring as some of the answers Ianto had hoped for. “Don’t be silly Sweetheart. Why would I do that? I _like_ what we have right now. Right now is working for me. I don’t need you to pick, hell I don’t _want_ you to pick. I’ve had my great love story, you know? It was almost perfect and I’m not looking to replace it. I don’t want you to leave Jack, run away with me, and play house out in the burbs. I want you just the way you are, sexy boss/boyfriend and all.”

Of course she manages to rattle off everything he’s been unable to find words for over the past several days in just a couple of breaths. He jabs her side in annoyance and promptly regrets it when Cheyenne buckles in on herself like a pillbug, elbows and knees smashing into his ribs and thighs as she shrieks.

“Ow! First you figure out how to say what I’ve been tripping over for almost a week, and then you attack me? I’m going to banish you and go back to bed at this rate.” She doesn’t uncurl before she snorts and her lips brush the thin skin of his neck as she speaks.

“If you tickle, I will flail and then curl. That’s just how it goes. Besides, you can’t banish me yet. I have to pick Indiana up at three and then the dogs after that. I’ve stuck everyone in daycare full time until everything is settled.” Ianto looks over her shoulder at where the hands on the clock are paused at eleven, running his fingertips over the soft weave of her dress along her spine.

“So, are you going to stay at the place where you are, or look for a flat in town?”

“Oh. No, see that’s where I am admittedly a bit of a snob. I have never had a home without a yard, an office, a library, and at least half an acre between me and the neighbors in any direction and I’m not starting now. I’ll extend the lease on the place I’m at now while I shop around, but I’m buying a house.”

“Buying a house and taking the job?”

“Yeah. Buying a house and taking the job.”

***

The television is on something neither of them is watching, a droning white noise in the background as Ianto nibbles his way down the flat slope of Cheyenne’s stomach. The grey dress is crumpled in his arm chair and the pale grey on white pinstriped bra, lacking the weight, has only made it about halfway there. Cheyenne has her fingers carding through his hair, tugging at the ends and humming contentedly under her breath.

“Ianto. Ianto, darling, I think your phone is ringing.”

“Shit!” Her legs splay wide, unwrapping from their place high on his ribs and making room for Ianto to scramble off the couch. “This is probably not an invasion so _don’t move_. Stay just like that.” The laugh she lets out is throaty as she stretches her arms above her head, arching her back in a way that makes her breasts sway enticingly, and he almost stumbles into the doorframe to his room. “Ha ha.” He’s got the phone in hand, moving it up to his face even as he watches her dragging French tipped nails down the inside of her arm slowly. “Jones. We better be getting invaded.”

“We are not, if truth be told, getting invaded.” Jack sounds more like his usual self than he has since he returned. “Actually, it looks like the rift is settling down…”

“Jack, I’ve got my hands full at the moment.” Not as full as Cheyenne’s though as they slide down her body slowly. “Did you need something or can I call you back in a little while?”

“No, nothing really, other than knowing you try to avoid sleeping for more than twenty hours at a stretch and this would be the only ringer on. Why, what are you doing?” Since he’s in the bedroom, Ianto pulls the top drawer of his dresser open and tries not to think too hard about the fact that he’s become the type of person who has to keep multiple caches of condoms scattered around his house. He waves the box at her, grinning wolfishly as she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her last scrap of clothing, wiggling it down her legs and kicking the knickers halfway across the apartment.

“Cheyenne, if you get off the phone.” He sticks the edge of the foil wrapper between his teeth long enough to shuck himself out of his pajamas, watching the way her eyes darken as she stares at him.

“Tell him to come over or call back Ianto.”

Jack groans dramatically as Ianto repeats her message. He can almost see the other man, slumped behind his desk making an enormous production of his pseudo-misery.

“Can’t. Duty calls. Though, feel free to document the proceedings again. I still have the texts from your birthday…” Ianto hangs up on the sound of Jack’s laughter, but brings the phone with him anyway as he crosses the floor.

Just in case.

***

The sounds he wrings out of her with his hands and mouth as she rides him on the sofa are fantastic.  
The way she whispers ‘I missed you’ in his ear before she comes is even better.

***

“I have to tell my sister.” He’s got his feet dangling over the arm of the sofa, head resting on Cheyenne’s chest as they catch their breath. Her snort has her jiggling in all the best places and she slaps Ianto’s hand idly as he reaches up to poke the side of her breast.

“Poor woman. I can’t get _my_ baby brother to stop calling me after he gets laid either.” Reaching under them to pinch the curve of her ass gets him a squirmy knee to the rib that is totally worth it.

“You’re an awful human being. I need to tell Rhiannon about Indiana or she is going to string me up by my guts and beat me like a piñata with my own severed limbs. Or, maybe just yank my ear and yell the roof down. Both of which are fates I’d like to avoid, and you can stop laughing anytime now because she’s going to want to meet Indiana and you too if she gets her way.”

“Aw, shit. She will too and she’s going to hate me on principle. I would. If Tony called me and said Cindy, had popped up with a kid on her hip and this was the first any of us knew about it, I would be ripshit. I don’t suppose she’s tiny and meek?” It’s possibly the best mental image he’s had in months, trying to imagine Rhiannon meek and small. Cheyenne doesn’t seem to find it nearly as funny, smacking him on the shoulder when he muffles his laughter in the curve of her throat.

“Rhiannon is at least three inches taller than you and built like a female shaped brick wall.”

“Shit. Then I’m going to have to make a hell of an impression. I could do a dinner maybe. Something casual, like a cook out. It’s hard to kick someone’s ass with a beer in one hand and ribs in the other.”

***

The flat is almost too quiet once Cheyenne leaves. Ianto cranks the volume on his sound system and gives the flat the cleaning he hasn't had time for in two weeks.

It doesn't even take an hour, so he sprawls out on the couch, peeling the label off a closed beer and trying to decide if inviting Kai upstairs for a round of Madden is an acceptable excuse not to call his sister. It isn't, and he's ashamed enough at himself to get his phone out and dial his sister, even as his mind desperately tries to come up with some way to do this without lectures and guilt and screaming in his ear.

“Oh thank God you called, I was going out of my skull bored. David's at football and Johnny's taking Mica down to the park which means he'll be wanting to run off with the boys again tonight. Entertain me.” The urge to tell her that the ones most likely to be entertained tonight are her neighbors is sudden, self-destructive, and quickly beaten back.

“I can do that. Get dressed. I'll be round in a few and we're going to dinner. We'll leave money for Johnny and the kids to have pizza.” On the other end of the line Rhiannon sighs.

“Ianto Jones, the last two times you took me out to dinner 'for no reason', you took me somewhere nice enough that I wouldn't throw a fit and ended up telling me you were moving to London, and _then_ that you were moving home because you'd been shot at by terrorists. Why don't you save yourself seventy pounds and just tell me over the phone?”

One of these days he's going to remember that his sister somehow _always_ knows.

“No, I think I'd rather have a couple steaks between us and a room full of witnesses for this one, Rhi. I'll be by in about half an hour.”

***

He calls Jack as he's getting dressed, digging around in his closet for something he doesn't mind getting blood on in case his sister hits him in the face.

“So I'm on my way to have dinner with my sister and tell her about Indiana. If she kills me in the middle of Miller and Carter's, adopt my ferns and don't forget to feed Myfanwy.”

“Your sense of dramatics is astounding. Dry, concise, and yet utterly ridiculous. Your sister is not going to kill you for having a kid, particularly one as cute as Indiana.” He reaches in for the black on black jacket with the swallows embroidered up the sleeves that his sister gave him for Christmas a couple years ago over the band shirt from the last concert they went to together before David was born. Let no man ever say he does not know how to manipulate his sister.

“Says you. I drove all the way to London with a mysterious ringing in my ears from the slap she gave me when I told her I was leaving. And now I'm telling her I've got this baby I was hiding but no, then I have to tell her _I_ didn't know either which makes Cheyenne look bad and me look like an idiot. Plus, there may be a bit of a spite thing since she had to get married when she was pregnant with David and I'm very obviously not doing that.”

“Huh. Well, since I got you before you left, have you thought about giving your sister the special forces spiel yet? You know she doesn't believe you work at the tourist office.”

“Yeah, I know.” There have been too many times in the past two years that Rhiannon has mentioned being downtown and stopping by when they were out on cases to find the office closed, too many dinners where he's been sporting black eyes or split lips, not even mentioning last New Year’s when he had to try and pass off a bullet wound as a wrenched shoulder. “She's stopped asking about work all together, but I've heard her talking to her husband. Seriously Jack, do I honestly look like a drug dealer to you?” He hesitates over the hat boxes and the older man laughs loud down the line.

“Well, that depends. Are you trying to decide between those gangster hats of yours?”

“No.” Ianto yanks his hand back from the top shelf and runs his hands through his hair instead, making sure it's not trying to curl up tight against his head despite all the product in it. “And nothing about my hats say 'I cook meth' damn it. Trucker hats are meth hats. _Mesh_ trucker hats.”

“Hats aside, you should swing by and pick up the SF badges and fake confidentiality agreements. If we have another emergency like the last one, you're going to need someone to watch Indiana in the middle of the night and an emergency at the tourist board isn't going to fly with anyone.”

“Shit, I didn't even think of that.” And isn't that embarrassing. He _always_ thinks about these kinds of things. It's his _job_ to anticipate things like that.

“There are very few eventualities I haven't covered with Torchwood. I'll have everything ready for you in your desk drawer upstairs. Stop by and get them on your way to dinner. Also, if I leave my card...”

“ _Yes_ , I will bring you back something.” Ianto casts one last look towards the mirror on his closet door. Good jeans, new trainers, band tee-shirt under a jacket, and nothing about it says drug dealer damn it.

“Stuffed potato skins with extra bacon please.”

“And steak, medium rare, with mixed veg unless the carrots look too mushy. I know Jack. I've got to go, I'll be by in ten for the paperwork.”

***

“Mummy! Uncle Ianto's here!” Mica slings open the door, shrieking over her shoulder as she tries to climb his legs. “Pick me _up_! Up! Up, up, up!”

She's tiny for four, petite and fine boned like his mum had been and always too light in his arms when he sweeps her up, squealing shrilly as he blows noisily in the crook of her neck.

“Yeah, wind the little monster up and then take off with her mum. Thanks for that Ianto.” Johnny picks her upside down, swinging his daughter so that her pigtails sweep the floor. “So, Rhi says pizza's on you?”

“Since I'm taking the only decent cook in the house away, I thought it would be fair. I brought this too.” He picks up the twelve pack of beers from where he set it before knocking on the door and Johnny scowls as he looks from the cardboard box up to Ianto.

“A bribe? What the hell have you done this time, man? I swear Ianto Jones, you're too old to be driving your sister spare like this. Gimmie that.” He forces himself not to glare as the older man snags the beer with his free hand. “Mica, go tell mummy to haul her arse please and thank you.” Her tiny palms slap against the entryway floor and she flips clumsily out of her father’s grip before pelting off through the narrow hall towards the stairs. “Now that she's gone, seriously, you've not done anything that's got you in trouble with the law, have you?”

“Why does everyone assume I'm always doing something wrong?”

“You stole a _car_.” Rhiannon has her arms crossed over a green shirt dress, scowling at him as she pauses by the mirror over the table where they drop their keys to get her other earring in.

“Prove it. I seem to remember lifting a pack of fags and getting caught for it. Reformed me instantly.” His sister snickers under her breath and makes one last pat at her hair.

“One day I'm going to get you to admit it. There we go, fantastic as always. Alright my spawn, line up and kiss your mum!” David stomps down the stairs and kisses his mother quickly on the corner of the mouth before thundering back up the stairs without so much as a wave to Ianto. “He's mad he can't go too.” Rhiannon explains between loud smacking kisses all over Mica's face. “I think there's something bothering him at school, but he doesn't want to tell me or his Da.”

“Ah. I'll pop up when we get back then.”

“So, I'd like to point out, once again, that my baby brother is the only person who ever takes me to dinner where I have to get changed.” Johnny snorts loudly, yanking Rhiannon against him and Ianto's pretty sure he manages to keep from grimacing too noticeably as he quickly looks anywhere but the direction where his brother in law is _snogging_ his sister.

He's really got to get over that.

“Yeah, well he's always running around in suits and shit, innt he? Go out with him, you gotta spruce it up, make sure people remember which one's the pretty one. But with me, baby, you can wear a rubbish bag and people never forget you're the good lookin one.”

“Idiot.” He looks over too soon and catches an eyefull of his brother-in-law copping a feel. “Right, we're off. Don't let my kids kill themselves and while we're gone, try to figure out the spot in your little declaration where you called my little brother 'pretty'. Love ya.” Rhiannon squeezes past them out the door and Johnny scowls, jabbing a finger in Ianto's direction.

“You're _not_ pretty.”

“I'm so pretty it's a cryin shame. We'll be back before eight.”

***  
It's more awkward than Ianto thought it would be, clutching the unmarked glossy black folder in his lap as Rhiannon sips at the girly little micro-brew import she always orders when they have dinner. Miller and Carter's is exactly the kind of place they like to go; nice without being fancy, and not too crowded on a Wednesday.

“All right, you're squirming like you've got to hit the loo. Why don't you just tell me firefly?” He doesn't protest the _humiliating_ pet name, something that apparently really worries his sister if the speed she reaches out and grabs his hand is any indication. “Ianto, cariad, what is it? Really?”

“I just...I don't even know where to start. I had an order I was going to do this in and everything, but I can't...I don't work at the tourist office and I don't do whatever it is you've been thinking I do.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out the dummy ID badge, sliding it across the table cloth to her. Rhiannon's nails are short and unpainted as she lifts it, flipping it open to stare down at the shot from his Torchwood ID badge and the somewhat falsified information next to it.

“Ianto. I don't...I see what I'm looking at. I'm seeing it, but what the hell am I looking at? This isn't...you're a soldier, Ianto? You're not a...Ianto, what am I looking at?”

“It's my job Rhi. This is what I do. It's what I've been doing since London. And after. I not really supposed to talk about it, but sometimes we can get an exception. Jack gave me one to tell you and Johnny. Not the kids of course, they're too young to be asked to keep something like secret.”

“You're Special Forces? You...” He's expecting a couple of different outcomes, but not the one where the corner of her mouth starts twitching and she's trying to smother her giggles in her napkin, waving him back into his seat when he half stands. “Oh, you stubborn little shit; are you telling me you _actually_ grew up to be a secret agent?”

“Well it sounds daft when you put it that way!” They're snickering as the appetizers come and Rhiannon flips the fake badge closed easily as the waiter leans across the table. Sometimes his sister is just brilliant.

“So, why did you get this special permission to tell me all of a sudden?” And sometimes her brilliance bites him in the ass.

“Right. This is the portion of the night where I wanted witnesses about. So, you remember last year I met that American girl, Cheyenne?”

“Yes. I remember the girl you _still_ talk about. You're talking a load of shit, what did you...oh tell me you didn't sneak off and get married to some girl you spent two weeks fucking a year ago, because my nerves cannot take that.”

“That is a _perfect_ point of reference to how much worse this could be, so hold that thought tight in your head...”

“Oh Mother-of-God, you knocked her up.” He has to remind himself firmly that he is twenty-five years old to keep from squirming in his seat as Rhiannon pinches the bridge of her nose.

“It was...it's not like we were being stupid or anything. Just got unlucky, wrong mix of medications from the pharmacy...”

“Ianto, dear, this is starting to become awkward. Can we just leave it alone, if I promise to believe you wouldn't be stupid enough to impregnate a perfect stranger on purpose?”

“That would be really fantastic. Thanks.” The urge to hide behind his beer wars with the knowledge that he's driving and surrenders reluctantly. Rhi is staring furiously down at her potato skins, mangling them as she takes slow breaths. This is the part he wasn't looking forward to.

“So, where's the really good explanation for why you didn't tell me before this? Weren't you going to tell me?”

“I am! I'm telling you now. Don't make that face, just be quiet and listen until I'm finished. I didn't know Rhi,”

“Oh that skanky little...”

“Oi! None of that! Cheyenne had her reasons not to tell me until she came back and if they're good enough for me, they're going to be good enough for you Rhiannon.” Except the purse to her lips and the arch of her brow says that not only will his say so not be good enough for her, but that she'll be letting him know if it should be good enough for him as well. “Look, she found out what I do and was really less than impressed. My job's dangerous Rhiannon, her husband died doing what I do. She just wasn't sure if she wanted the two of them around all of it.” Rhi isn't scowling anymore, but she's mangled all six of the potato skins while they were talking, which is disappointing because he'd been looking forward to one. Briefly he ponders trying to salvage one from the sorry remains of smashed insides and stirred sour cream, but it's been reduced to such a sad pale slop that he doesn't bother.

“So she's back in Cardiff then?” The food smells delicious as it's sat in front of them and his sister scrunches up her nose as he dumps steak sauce over his fries.

“Got in a couple of days ago. Here, that's him.” The phone is snatched from his hand and Ianto uses his sister's distraction to set into his steak. “Pretty good looking, right?”

“He looks just like you when you were that size.” Her voice is tight in a way that has Ianto looking up in alarm. There are tears in his sister's eyes as she ignores her untouched plate, staring down at the screen cradled in her hands. “Even that expression, like he's a bit unimpressed with it all. You used to make that face. Still do. Mum would have…” She clears away the break in her voice. “Mum would have been crazy about him.”

“Yeah. I'm already kind of crazy about him. I was freaking out for days trying to figure out how to convince Cheyenne not to leave again with him.”

“She's not leaving, is she? I haven't even seen him yet!”

“No, she's not leaving. Jack, my boss, well, our boss, convinced her to sign on with us as our linguist instead of tromping through jungles with an infant. She's planning some sort of lunch thing by the way, based on her theory that you won't take a swing at her with a drink in one hand and food in the other. Shit!” His face flushes red as the people three tables over turn to look at him rubbing his sore shin and hissing through his clenched teeth at his sister. “What the _fuck_ , we're adults now Rhiannon and we use our _words_!”

“Not when you're being a twat we don't. What the hell did you tell that poor girl that has her planning her menu around what I can and cannot theoretically _punch_ her while eating!”

“You are the most embarrassing human being in the entire world, Rhiannon Davies! Can you keep it down in public please? I didn't tell her anything. She's the one who said it! Stop kicking me or we're going home!”

“No we're not, I haven't eaten yet. Quit babysitting that beer and tell me more about this stunning nephew of mine.”

“Yeah, let me just put in an order first.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jack is at his desk, papers in several raggedy piles scattered across the surface as he drums his pen rhythmically across the polished wood in a sharp four-count tattoo.

“Well, that's an obnoxious new habit you've picked up.” Jack startles violently, pen flying from his hand.

“Jesus you need a bell on!” His face smooths out of its haunted surprise and into a familiar distracted gaze that isn't broken until Ianto sets the plate of reheated food down on the desk sharply.

“Whatever perverse mental detour you were on can wait, your food is getting cold.”

“Are you sure, because trying to figure out the best way to put a bell on you led down a pleasant train of thought that ended with you in cat ears and a tail.” He knows reacting just feeds the issue, but Ianto can't keep from scoffing as he flops down on the couch, moving his leg just enough for Jack to settle next to him, plate balanced on his lap. “If you'd given me another forty-five seconds, I would have decided if you could purr while blowing me or not.”

“I'm not supposed to encourage you Jack, but in some strange manga dimension where I am a furry and you are a furry-fucker, I'm sure I purr when I blow you.”

“A 'furry-fucker', really? You may be a master of unflattering phrases, Ianto Jones.” Jack yelps and shifts his plate to the arm of the couch as Ianto nicks one of the potato skins from his plate. “Mine! You ate yours at the restaurant.”

“No, my sister did unspeakable things to them. Smashed them with a violent and frightening efficiency into a foul bacon studded paste and then kicked the shit out of me. Look at this!” He shoves the entire half skin in his mouth and yanks the leg of his jeans up to his knee. “Mooph wat ee 'id to 'e!”

“And there's the charm and elegance that has me so enraptured.” He shoots Jack the finger, even as he man pokes softly at the round bruise coming up on the bony line of Ianto's shin. “I've been on Earth too long. I had the damndest urge to jab it and laugh that your sister beats you up.”

“Prick. I _told_ you she'd try to beat me up. I've yet to convince her that I don't need to be guided through life like a mule by means of whacks about my person. Probably because I was exactly that kind of brat that needed a good clout around the ear.” The thought makes the food in his stomach sit like frozen lead. “Oh no. I have no idea what I am going to do if Indiana is half as bad as I was. I was a _rotten_ little bastard Jack. “

“And yet look how well you turned out. Polite, articulate, organized, and distractingly good looking.” Jack reaches for him and Ianto lets the broad hand slide halfway up his thigh before leaning over and taking another potato skin. “A food thief, but no one's perfect.”

“If you're going to spend the evening groping me and letting your imagination run wild while I'm still in the room, I'm going to eat your skins. They're great.”

“The fact that I can apparently have you for the price of junk food and beer is hilarious.”

“Well, that doesn't say much for you, settling for someone who can be bought with root vegetables and bacon.” Jack tries to ruin his perfectly delicious skin by dropping a piece of broccoli on it, so he yanks the thickest most bacon studded chunk of cheese from Jack's and covers the foul floret with it.

“Oh I don't know. I sleep with your girlfriend, play with your kid, and watch that ass of yours in those fantastic suits all day. Seems like a pretty good trade for some potatoes to me. Even if you do take the cheesiest ones.” The conversation is starting to feel not-so-much about potato skins anymore, so Ianto lifts his hips and digs the two long neck bottles out of his jacket pockets, knocking the tops off and passing one to Jack. “Do you ever drink anything _other_ than beer and coffee?”

“Nope.” It's unfortunately close enough to reality to count as truth. Little sips of water or juice here and there don't really make up for the fact that he gets at least eighty percent of his fluids in either alcoholic or caffeinated form. “But neither do you.”

“Yes, but like Prometheus, my liver is perpetually perfect. Heh, Prometheus' perpetually perfect liver. Say _that_ three times fast.”

“Have you always been an enormous child, or has Earth just been a tragic influence on you?” Jack shuffles around on the couch, wrapping his legs around Ianto's waist and curling over his back, long muscled arm draped across Ianto's shoulder as he swirls the beer inside his bottle.

“Oh no. Earth has been _so_ good for me. Everything good about the man I am, is because I keep finding my way back here.”

“Well, Earth for the win, then.” He angles the lip of his bottle, tapping it against Jack's in a toast the man echoes.

“Earth for the win.”

“So.” He leans back against the body behind him. “Was our salvage team there this morning? Please say no, because I would love to ruin the week of that awful little man in requisitions I spoke to yesterday.”

***

His life takes on a kind of strange predictability. He gets up, starts the coffee and showers, then calls Cheyenne while he's getting dressed to compare their schedules and she always uses her speakerphone so that he can hear Indiana cooing and burbling in the background. There's still ten days until she starts and she seems to need every moment of it from the sound of it. They're down to two incursions a day, inert, and only one live breech a week, so Jack has him spending most of his day in the archives tagging files and objects of interest that Jack wants Cheyenne to start with. He sets up a system that's probably all wrong, grouping glyphs and scribbles that look similar by sticky-note color tabs, and leaving a little tags with keywords on the items. He makes arrangements with Jack to take an hour for lunch at three-fifteen anytime they aren't on call which he spends with Chy, Indy, and the dogs after she picks them up. Indy still looks a bit unimpressed every time Ianto picks him up, but his obsessive need to eat Ianto's ties apparently makes up for whatever he thinks Ianto is lacking as a father.

“Indy, offspring, Daddy's tie has weevil spit on it, don't put that in your mouth. Here, gnaw on this apple.”

“Don't give him apple slices Ianto, he has gums like a bear trap.” Cheyenne is draped across the bench next to him in a wool jacket as red as her lipstick, finalizing something about switching financial advisers and accountants in between hurling tennis balls out across the grass at the park for Lucifer to chase down.

“He's fine. I gave him a whole apple, he can't even get any of it in his mouth, he's just slobbering all over it.”

“Yeah, I think he's going to get his teeth early because he has been _fussy_. So, about Saturday? I'm thinking about inviting a few other people to stop by later in the afternoon, kind of late enough for any blowups to be dealt with and early enough to keep awkward silences from popping up.”

“Ow.” Indy seems to have caught on to the fact that nothing good is coming of the apple and is pounding his feet into Ianto's liver and making a low yowling sound that's promising to jump in pitch very soon. “Sounds good to me. Hand me a bottle before he kicks me in my guts again.” Lucifer comes hurrying up to the bench with that hilarious waddling-trot Cheyenne's dogs use when they want to hurry but can't be bothered and flops across Beelzebub and Ianto's shoes with a grumble. “Also, your dogs are driving Myfanwy insane with jealousy. She spends all afternoon when I come back shrieking and yanking at my trouser legs.” His apple is gone, lost to the dogs in the shuffle between situating Indiana in his sleeping bag suit, the light blanket over him, the vomit rag, and the bottle.

“That is hilarious. Poor girl probably can't figure out why you keep playing with the food. It's not going to be weird then, if I invite your team is it? Because I only know something like twenty people in the country.”

“Nah, they'll love it; especially if Gwen can bring Rhys. She's always complaining they don't do anything together but go to the pub anymore. Also, she's been trying to blow a hole in the bottom of her bank account while online shopping. Apparently being an only child with no babies around has snapped something in her brain. If she can make it, she'll come armed with toys.” His earpiece beeps and he doesn't have a free hand. “Shit. Hit the lit button for me.” Her fingers are cold as they brush his earlobe. “Jones here.”

“We've got an alarm across town at Victoria park, so I'd really like it if you'd tell me you were somewhere else.” Jack's voice is tense and Cheyenne must see something in his face because she takes Indy quickly.

“We're in Grange Gardens. I'll meet you there...”

“Nope, we're on the 119 now and I can see the park. I'm doing a rolling stop, so be ready.”

“On my way.” Ianto stands up, reaches to check his gun and panics for a moment as his hand touches nothing underneath his jacket before remembering that he swapped his shoulder holster for a middle of the back style after the first lunch where Indiana yanked his suit and flashed the gun to two women jogging with strollers. “Sorry, work. Jack should be here any minute.” In fact, he thinks he can hear the sirens on the SUV now. He drops a kiss on Indiana's head, and brushes Cheyenne's lips with his before sprinting for the road and the black truck whipping around the corner.

“Call me when you're finished!” The back door is indeed cracked open, and Ianto hops up on the running board when Jack slows, ducking into the backseat as Gwen slings the door open.

“What've we got?” Laughter is not the response he's expecting. Owen has slid down in the passenger seat, cackling madly into his hands, scanner hanging forgotten from his fingers. The corner of Jack's mouth is twitching rapidly and the girls are tittering away around him. “Right, alien object that turns everyone into idiots. Nothing new then.”

“I think you're just a little over dressed for the occasion Ianto.” Jack's voice is strangled with mirth and Gwen reaches forward around his seat, pinching at his shoulder and dangling the white blanket with fat diapered ducklings in front of him. His face goes violently red so quickly it makes his ears pound as he snatches the spit-up blanket out of Gwen's hand.

“I hate all of you, so very much, and if there is any justice in the universe you will all end the day covered in alien vomit. Now shut up and fill me in.”

***

“You cursed us.” Gwen's voice is thick with loathing as she stands next to the SUV, pawing viscous orange...mucus out of her hair and flinging it to the ground. Her shoes squelch when she shifts her weight and her clothes pull away from her skin with sticky sucking sounds every time she flings her arms.

“Yeah, well his curses are rubbish. He's just as covered in man-eating plant goo as the rest of us.” He's not actually. There's plenty of it in his hair, oozing down his neck and trying to get in his ear, but mostly he kept from taking a face full, unlike Owen, who's got the stuff clumped in his eyelashes, hair, and still has a thin layer of it glazing his face.

“No I'm not. You look like you took several faces full of orange spunk. Besides, unlike you poor sticky bastards,” he reaches in the backseat and pulls out the baby's blanket, wiping out his ear. “I have a spit-up blankie.” The glare Owen gives him should keep him smiling the rest of the day as the doctor uses his teeth to rip into a pack of wet wipes. Ianto drapes the thin cotton around his neck and hefts the gas cans Jack sent him back to the truck for. “Yeah, pretty funny now, huh?”

Owen's cursing all the way back to where Tosh and Jack are waiting to take samples and burn the rest of the exploded remains makes great background music.

***

Cheyenne picks up on the first ring, as if she's had the phone in her hand the entire time.

“Is everyone alright?” Her tone is strained; going, presumably, for calm-and-concerned and ending up somewhere closer to tense-yet-hyperfunctional.

“Everyone's fine. We all got covered in plant slime, but nothing a shower didn't solve.”

“Good.” The word comes out in a rush of whispered breath. “Amazing how easy it was to get used to spending the afternoon with a phone glued to one hand again. Thanks for not forgetting to call.” The tips of his ears heat and Ianto shuffles the specimen boxes uncomfortably in his hands as he carts them to Owen's lab, because truthfully, he _had_ forgotten about calling until Gwen whipped out her phone to dial Rhys. Hadn't realized that of course she had her phone in her hand, and that it had probably been there since the moment he jumped into the truck.

“Sorry, I should have called sooner probably. I keep forgetting you've done all this before.”

“No. No, don't worry about it. Calls from base are always better than calls from the field. Calls from the field always mean someone's dead, or someone came close enough that everyone is freaking out and calling their people because they can't believe they came that close and walked away. Go finish doing whatever it is you're doing for wrap up and then you should swing by for dinner. I fry chicken when I'm nervous and I did like, four batches plus macaroni, so fair warning, my kitchen is covered in golden-brown poultry.” His stomach growls, reminding Ianto that he dropped the other half of his lunch passing Indy back to Chy when Jack called.

“That is the best nervous tic I have ever heard of.” Through the glass walls of his office, Ianto can see Jack climb out of his room, still drying his hair. “Hold on a second. Jack!” The head that pokes out of the office door has a towel draped over it as the immortal man scrubs his hair dry.

“What! And why are you bellowing across the Hub when you've got a com?”

“Because I'm on the phone!” He gestures to his hand cupped over the mouth piece. “Are we clear for the night? Chy made dinner and I want it while it's hot!”

“Depends, what'd she make?”

“A butt-load of fried chicken!” It occurs to him approximately a third of a second after the words leave his mouth that bellowing about food in an echo chamber full of people who live off takeaways is a bad idea. Suddenly heads are poking out of stairwells and labs, all eyes trained on him as Jack takes the stairs to the rift manipulator two at a time, towel still hanging off his neck.

“I'm holding these readings hostage until I'm fed.” He's parked himself in front of the display leaning forward and grinning as Ianto rolls his eyes.

“This is at least three different kinds of abuse of power.” Jack laughs until his hair flops into his eyes.

“Have you _met_ me? My face is next to the Wiki for petty and useless abuse of power. Gwen's still sulking that about the red jelly baby edict.”

“I'm just saying you don't get your own holiday once a month where we have to 'sacrifice all the red ones to appease your hunger' Jack.” Gwen's typing away on her phone as she snips at him.

“And again, _I'd_ like to point out that Jesus died once and he gets Easter and Christmas. I am several hundred up on him and I think that warrants all the red candies every third Tuesday.”

“Did Jack just declare himself a better Jesus than Jesus?” Cheyenne is laughing and at some point he's dropped his hand from the ear piece, most likely when he realized he had unleashed the hounds.

“He does that sometimes, mostly when he's hungry.”

“Well that was so spectacularly melodramatic it should be rewarded, tell him he can come if you hurry up.”

“I'll tell him, but for future reference, we've all agreed not to reward that kind of behavior with food. It just encourages him.” Jack flips him the finger.

“Says the people who surrender every red candy in the building to me on third Tuesdays. We're clear until tomorrow morning. Everybody get out, I've got food waiting.”

“Nope, we're coming with. I texted Cheyenne while you were trying to convince us all you can turn water into wine; she's invited us all to come 'round. Rhys too so I'm off to round him up before he disappears out with the boys.” Ianto rolls his eyes and drops the last of the bins in the cold storage, taking the stairs out of the autopsy bay at a jog.

“So, you've just invited everyone to dinner then?”

“Boy, you have no idea how much fucking chicken I made. I've been frying chicken for four hours now while your son stares at me like I'm a crazy person. It smells like a Bojangles at my house.”

“You're talking rubbish, I don't even know if that's a good or bad thing. What's a Bojangles?” Obviously it's a good thing from the sound Jack makes as he vaults the rail next to the rift manipulator.

“I haven't eaten there since the seventies! I'm getting dressed, ask her to put the dogs out before we get around.”

***

Cheyenne isn't kidding about the massive amount of food she made. The counter space is covered in cooling racks and baking dishes wrapped with tinfoil as everyone follows Ianto through the house to the kitchen.

“Good, spare hands. Someone get the paper plates from that cabinet over there, someone else get silverware from that top drawer, Jack come help me transport food and Indy's wet, so this one's all yours Ianto Jones.” She's slightly wilted from the heat of the kitchen. Long curls have escaped down from the slapdash bun high on the back of her head, trailing down around her ears and falling in her eyes. There's a dancing green robot on her tanktop and a pair of yoga pants are clinging to her hips as she dumps Indiana in Ianto's arms with a grin and takes Rhys' hand with a laugh. “You must be Gwen's fiancée. Cheyenne Morgan, pleasure to meet you. Hello, if the rest of my slave labor could start setting the table, that would be killer, because I did the cooking and I'm doing the washing up, but damned if I'm setting the table too.”

“Nappies?” Indiana is squirming, trying to yank Ianto's tie into his mouth again.

“Huh? Oh, diapers. Upstairs, the door across from the black guestroom.”

Cheyenne has been exactly as busy as she complains about from the look of the house. The room with the two pine beds has been rearranged, twin beds dismantled and carted off someplace to be replaced with a green and white nursery set covered in more fat overly cute animals of the jungle variety tempered with prints from the actual jungles Cheyenne's been to and live plants growing from baskets hanging near the window. The picture over the changing table is a panoramic sweep of crumbling stone ruins sprawled and overgrown with glossy green foliage, studded with bright flashes of flowers and birds in the distance. In the foreground are canvas and wood buildings and on the matting around the photo, Cheyenne has drawn a big red arrow pointing to half a roof in the corner under a note that says 'you were born here'.

“Well, the view’s a bit nicer than the Heath where your grandmum had me, I'll give you that. All right, let's get this done before Jack and Owen descend like locusts on the table and daddy's forced to shoot someone for a bite to eat.” Indiana's warm and limp on the table, gumming on a soft gel ring and staring up at Ianto out of those huge greyish-blue eyes as he whips him into a new diaper and a pair of fuzzy pajamas with a dinosaur hood and tail. “This is really cute, but if anyone asks it's because they're the only pair I could find. Got it?” Indy squeals as Ianto scoops him up and that's pretty good for an agreement as far as he's concerned.

“Ianto, get the lead out because she won't let me eat until you get down here!” Owen's bellowing around the corner, looking for the stairs and almost crashes into Ianto jogging down them.

“You're not wasting away Owen. Grow up and wait patiently like everyone else.” The other man falls into step next to him as they navigate their way to the dining room.

“I'm waiting _better_ than everyone else, asshole. Jack and Gwen have both already taken a cursing for stealing the edges of macaroni.”

“Oh my goodness, he's a little dinosaur! Come to Auntie Gwen then and don't bother fussing because I've got a present for you.” Ianto's more than happy to pass the baby over to Gwen and start piling his plate from the small mountain of drumsticks in the middle of the table. Next him Jack is making an orangish-red ruins of his plate with hot sauce. “Rhys, hand me the bag luv. One thing you can always count on is boys and dinosaurs, eh?” Indiana is enthralled with the bright blue pterodactyl Gwen pulls out of the bag, promptly sticking the tip of one wing in his mouth.

“So, not that I'm ungrateful, but why the big spur of the notice chicken party, because I might need to make this happen again.” Owen's not even bothering to ask for food, just reaching around Jack to grab what he wants as he talks.

“Oh, force of habit. I used to do it when James would come home on leave, which turned into after a long call, and then he'd start bringing some of his soldiers home with him afterwards...by the end he'd call me to let me know they had a case and I'd just head to the store and meet them on base with the food. I was halfway home with enough food for an army before I remembered. And then I said 'fuck it, everyone likes fried chicken' and made it all anyway.”

“Cheyenne's husband was involved in homeland security.” Gwen tells Rhys as she bounces Indiana on her knee.

“So you're an old pro at this special forces plus one stuff then. Good, I can use someone to whinge at when these ones are off rounding up terrorists and what-not and the Lasagna's getting cold for the fourth time.”

“Yeah, well I've crossed the line into enemy territory. I'm going to be doing some translations work for Jack. You know.” She grins. “Something local to keep me out of the jungles.”

“Gwen mentioned you spent last year lost in some jungle. What's that like?” Cheyenne laughs and begins a story Ianto's kind of heard before about how long it took to get to her last site and under the table Jack knocks their knees together as he licks salt and hot sauce off his fingers.

It's more fun than he's had in years.

***

Jack is hustling them at cards, not even trying not to gloat over his enormous pile of nickels and candy.

“Stop smearing your smugness all over the candy asshole, I want to be able to eat that when I win it back.” Cheyenne's own skittles are sorted into smaller piles by color, her change arranged in abstract little swirls that she changes whenever she has a really good or bad hand, but Ianto has yet to figure out if there's a pattern to which is which. “Four eights."

It's a hell of a move to make with most of two decks sitting in the discard pile in the center of the table next to the baby monitor and everyone down to six cards or less in their hands. He can see Owen itching to call her bluff, eyes darting between the pile now four cards taller, and the last two cards in her hand. Cheyenne just grins at them all and swaps the penny at the end of one spiral for the nickel in the center.

“Bullshit!” Jack beats him to it, which is all for the best as Cheyenne gleefully flips up a pair of spades, a heart, and a diamond; all eights, before sliding the towering pile across the table at him. “Oh, come on, I can't even _hold_ all these! What's the buyout again?”

“Half the goods.” House rules are not cheap at the Morgan home apparently. Jack eyes the massive spread of candy in front of him and sighs heavily, shoving roughly half of it into the pot on the other side of the monitor before adding his hand to the discard and replacing it.

“Right, I'm out, but your candy is flavored with spoiled smug, so enjoy it.”

“Cash too Captain. Half the goods is half the goods.” Six dollars in small change is added to the second pile in the pot as well and Owen scowls at where Skittles and M&Ms are touching pennies and dimes.

“We're all just sharing strange germs, touching all the candy with dirty money hands you know.” Next to him Tosh snorts and folds as well, adding to the piles.

“I'm out. And Owen doesn't care about germs, he's just trying to gross us out enough to make his play.”

“You're still just mad about the last poker game. I've got one nine.”

“You started a ten minute monologue on intestinal parasites Owen! I didn't eat for two days. I'm out. How about you luv, you've got work in the morning.” Gwen cashes out, Rhys following suit as they stuff their change in their pockets.

“Yeah, I think we're done here. I'm three pounds up though, so all for the best.” Ianto reaches over, resting his foot warningly over Jack's who looks over at him, eyes wide and innocently blue.

“Well, great having you and thanks for helping put a dent in my neurosis. Jack, hold my cards for me.” Cheyenne slips out of her chair, steering Gwen and Rhys through the kitchen trying to talk them in to walking out with leftovers and Jack tucks Chy's cards into his shirt pocket, rolling his sleeve up and opening his wrist strap.

“Everything all right back at the Hub?” It's been niggling at the back of Ianto's brain that as long as he's been at the Hub it's never been left unattended this long without the entire team on a call. Jack nods absently as he flicks his finger across the screen, paging through readings and CCTV feeds.

“It's all fine. I know it doesn't feel like it, but the world runs just fine without us ninety-nine point six three two percent of the time. We're still clear until morning. Pass me another piece of chicken.”

“All right gentlemen, losing a bluff is now an automatic out. Last hand. My cards?” Cheyenne drops back into her chair, tossing one leg over the arm and swinging her bare foot in the air. “Christ on crackers, why aren't you _fat_ Jack? That's seriously your eighth piece of chicken.”

“If I'm not chasing aliens with a gun, I'm being _chased_ by aliens with guns. That's a lot of cardio.” He fishes the two cards out of his shirt and slides them across the varnished tabletop.

“All right Teaboy, are you in or out? It's been a long day and I want to take my winnings, get a lift home with Tosh, and get some sleep.” He's got four cards, one of them a ten and he bluffs with two, knowing Owen won't risk calling him. The medic is slightly drunk and focused on winning back the last two hands worth of money Cheyenne took off him. Cheyenne looks at him through narrow eyes before, of all the girly things, adding a line of pennies and turning her spiraling ray into a flower.

“One jack.”

“Bullshit!” Owen doesn't even wait for the card to reach the pile, reaching out and lifting her hand and the two of hearts in it. Cheyenne rolls her eyes and cashes out, reaching across the table to start stacking glasses.

“Here, let me.” Jack rises, gathering empty beer bottles before leaning over and plucking Owen's from the table as he reaches for it. “That's enough for Owen. I haven't been home long enough to listen to you pissing and moaning every time the airlock rolls open tomorrow.” The medic flips Jack a rude gesture, but doesn't argue, grinning at Ianto instead as he flicks the edge of his cards with his finger and watches the Jack follow Cheyenne out of the dining room.

“Oh for fuck's sake, _what_ Owen?” The man smirks and taps his cards against the table.

“You're a _freak_ Jones. You just went cross-eyed trying to watch them both bend over at the same time. You are an A-level, narcissistic, man-whore. You have dethroned _Jack_ , two queens, as biggest slut in Wales since he now gets a handicap for being an alien from the future.”

“Right. First off, bullshit you have two fucking queens. Game over. Secondly, you are a _far_ larger whore than I since at last count I have deleted one hundred and thirteen different images of public indecency from the citywide CCTV banks involving you and _fifty-three_ different people in two years. You are a slanderous libeler who's easier than Velcro trainers and Tosh should make you do the walk of shame home.”

“She should, but she _won't_ because Tosh is a luv, and you are, as I have already said, a twat.” Owen shoves the pot across the table to Ianto, standing up and cracking his back loudly. “Right, I'm done. Are you about ready to go Tosh?”

“Absolutely.” There's a whimpering coming from the monitor on the table and Chy is in the doorway, a bottle already in hand and paper bags in the other.

“Chicken. Take it out of my house, please and thank you. I don't care if you eat it, give it to hobos, or throw it at cop cars, so long as it leaves with you. You'll have to excuse me for not walking you out, I need to feed the baby...”

“I can do that.” Ianto plucks the bottle from her hands, heading off towards the stairs where Indy is working up to a wail. “Goodnight Tosh, Owen.”

The nightlight in the nursery is a small blue bulb inside a punched tin star, dotting the ceiling, walls, and Indiana's crumpled face in pale blue pinpricks of light.

“Come on then man, up you come.” The tiny body in his arms is warm and still dry as Ianto slumps down into the glider by the window, guiding the rubber nipple into the tiny mouth already puckered greedily around empty air. “There we go. You should hurry up and get some teeth my friend, because your mother is a pretty good cook.” The dim blue light hits the infants eyes, washing them out to a pale grey as they focus up on him. Downstairs he can faintly hear the sound of the front door being closed, and the sound of Tosh's engine turning over has one of the dogs barking a low soft grumble of a sound. In his arms, Indy has fat little hands gripping the glass sides of the bottle tightly, fingers flexing and feet kicking as he nurses intently. “I'm so glad you're friendly because your cousin David was a grumpy little shit for almost half of his first year. Screamed blue bloody murder every time anyone but his mam tried to feed him. But you, you're just kind of agreeable, not really too bothered by much of anything even when Gwen is clutching you like a crazy woman. Did you like your dinosaur? Daddy has a dinosaur too, a big one that Jack helped me catch.”

He's advising Indiana what a bad idea it is to try and catch Jack from roughly fifteen feet of free fall when the little body in his arms finally slumps back into sleep. Ianto rises carefully, and tucks his son back into his cot, tucking the blue stuffed dinosaur in next to him and tip-toeing out of the room.

The downstairs is mostly silent as Ianto steps off the staircase, lights shut off or dimmed through the house. There's music, something kind of jazzy and hipster drifting out of the kitchen over the flow of water and the low wordless rumbles and murmurs of Jack and Cheyenne talking. In the dining room, his change is sitting in a paper cup, Skittles and M&Ms jumbled together in a Ziplock bag next to it. The back wall is brightly lit by the kitchen, and from his position paused just on the other side of the door he can hear Chy and Jack's conversation as clearly as he can the kid in the song wailing about the 'rich white kid blues'.

“So are you done avoiding me, or was I reading that wrong?”

“No, no I was dodging you like I owed you money and you know why. Sorry, I just...that's some heavy shit Jack and that's what I do; as soon as I have time, I go off and think about things until I can deal with them with a certain base level of grace and decorum.” They're shoulder to shoulder at the sink, Cheyenne washing, Jack making half-hearted wipes at whatever she hands him with a dishtowel before setting them neatly in the strainer.

“Grace and decorum?” Jack snorts, tossing his head as he laughs. “Oh, once a southern belle, always a southern belle.”

“Oh, you go fuck yourself Jack Harkness.” They're thumping each other with elbows, slopping water over onto the floor as Jack mostly stands there laughing and let's Cheyenne bounce off him.

“You almost tired out down there?”

“Keep fucking with me. Do it, keep picking on the person who touches the food.” She squeals as Jack pinches her arse, dancing in place and flinging bubbles. “Stop, boy!” Her squeal is shrill and long, turning stop into a yowled five syllable word that has Ianto stepping into the room.

“Jack, if you wake him pinching his mother then you're putting him back down.”

“Well listen to you, you're a pro at this. Even the threats are top shelf. Bravo.” Jack turns, Cheyenne still under his arm and whatever misgivings she's had about Jack's immortality are nowhere on her face; gone or, more likely, buried deep and ignored like Ianto's own. “Unfortunately for you, I am as perfect with children as I am with everything else.”

“Your coffee tastes like liquid pavement, you drive like a grandmum except when you drive like brakes are for decoration, your aim is impeccable _except_ when confronted by a rubbish bin, and if pride wasn't a sin, they would have thrown on an addendum to the bible just for you.” That dimple that sometimes shows up when the immortal man is smiling hard enough is there again for the first time since before Abbadon.

“And just think, in almost two hundred years, those are my _only_ bad habits.”

“Well, now that we've established no one is mired in a bog of low self-esteem, it's still pretty early.” The clock over the sink says it's only a quarter to ten as Cheyenne drops the last glass baking dish into the strainer. “You guys should think about sticking around for a while.”

***

“There's no way it can be that bad. How can a _shoe_ be that bad?” They're sprawled across Cheyenne's bed, tumbled in among the massive pile of useless girly mini-pillows, watching some movie she unapologetically proclaimed to be 'the perfect chick flick so deal with it'.

“No idea. They will _never_ tell you what is so monstrously horrendous about this shoe. You're just supposed to take their word for it that the only way this thing could be any worse was if it came alive at night and strangled kittens. Keep doing that thing with your thumb.” Cheyenne's got her head propped up against his stomach, her feet kicked up into Jack's lap as he absentmindedly works the ball of his thumb along the arch of her foot.

“I would like to point out the shameful sexist double standard in the fact that you've been fucking me since week _three_ at Torchwood and not once have you ever rubbed my feet Jack.” The immortal man glances away from the screen long enough to roll his eyes at Ianto's baiting smirk.

“You don't rub mine either. Watch the movie and give this poor man your attention. Remember, this is not just a failure, it's a _fiasco_.”

***

“Who stays on the phone that long?” They've squirmed into something that manages to not at all resemble a triangle despite being made up of three people trying to all get their feet rubbed while keeping other feet out of their faces.

“Oh, that's nothing. What'd we manage Cheyenne?”

“Nine hours and I have the cellphone bill to prove it. Ever seen what a nine hour call from Peru to Wales on AT&T roaming looks like? It's _awe inspiring_.” She does something weird to Ianto's feet that makes his brain want to put up an out to lunch sign. “I think we talked about everything _but_ Torchwood and SHIELD. My disdain for flats that aren't running shoes, how tangerines are okay but tangelos are shameful and unnecessary, things that give us literal and metaphorical rashes, how fists are _only_ for punching and Black Panther rallies...”

“Oh god, you've got her started.” She nips at his ankle.

“I'm just saying, everyone's allowed their own thing, but you punch _me_ in the twat and I'm coming up swinging back. Ewww, Jack!” Ianto's leg bounces off the bed onto the floor as Cheyenne sits up, using the corner of her blanket to wipe soda off her skin as Jack laughs and sputters, wiping his drink off his face with the tail of his shirt.

“Sorry! Sorry, by all means, continue.” Jack's still snickering as he drags his sleeve across his eyes. “It sounds educational.”

***

Jack hears it first, freezing still at the apex of his thrust and snaking his hand around to cover Ianto's mouth when he opens it to complain. Under them Cheyenne has paused in the same wide eyed, startled deer stillness and Ianto drops his head down onto her shoulder with a groan as Indiana starts to wail down the hall.

“Really? That's _your_ son, because no one in my family has _ever_ had timing so appalling.” Cheyenne is squirming under him, trying to figure out a way to slip out of the tangle of limbs they've become and mostly just making Ianto wish the baby had slept just ten more minutes. Maybe five. “Move! I can't feed the baby stuck under, like, four hundred pounds.”

“Not hardly, three-seventy _maybe_.” Jack snorts and pulls out of Ianto in a smooth quick move that leaves him open mouthed and shuddering. “I'm on top, I'll go.” His lips press warm and damp against the thin skin between Ianto's shoulder blades. “Don't finish without me.”

“I should probably feel weirder about your boyfriend getting out of bed with us to put the baby back to sleep, shouldn't I?” Chy slides her legs down off his shoulders, resting them in the small of his back as her breathing starts to slow.

“I'm pretty sure Jack's officially shared territory by now. Less mine more ours...” His voice trails off as she looks up at him, eyes dark and intent in the low light from the television screen and he said _ours_ like it's always been that way, not something brand new in their normal vocabulary of yours, mine, and on rare occasions we. The corner of her bottom lip disappears behind her teeth and Ianto runs his thumb across the plush swell of her mouth, tracing the dent her eyetooth left there. “Right?”

“All right.” Her arms twine around his neck, pulling him down into the kind of long lazy kiss that just _demands_ the kind of slow deep thrusts his hips have started up without him, wringing pleased little moans out of her.

“Besides, if you must feel weird about something, feel weird about the fact that I'm pretty sure he's feeding the baby naked because I'm still looking at his trousers.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ianto shifts his weight as she tries to squirm out from under him, nibbling at her neck.

“Apparently half the known galaxy in one time period or another has seen Jack naked according to him and no one has ever come back with a therapy bill. I'm pretty sure Indy can't even tell the difference anyway. Come on, it's fine, I promise.”

By the time Jack makes it back to the bed they're half buried under tangled bedding, Cheyenne spooned up against him, her hands clutching at the swell of his forearms as Ianto pushes down the urge to for faster, and harder, and more.

“Oh, thank god darlin’, cause we were waiting for you, but if you had taken five more minutes you would have been a very disappointed boy.” Jack crawls across the sheets, easing down onto his side in the curve of her arms, trapping Ianto's hands between their bodies as he eats at Chy's mouth. The blue-white light of the television cuts through the shadows on their skin and when Ianto slides his hand down to wrap his fingers around Jack, he has to cover Cheyenne's hand to do it.

***  
epilogue  
***

Cheyenne starts work Tuesday morning, stepping into the tourist office at a quarter past eight in her red coat with her laptop bag slung over her shoulder, sunglasses pushed back on her head as she leans on the countertop.

“So, know of anywhere strange and interesting I should make sure not to miss while I'm in Cardiff?”

“You're a dork.” But an attractive dork with her face tipped up at just the right angle to kiss. “Come on, let's get you some coffee so Jack can get you keyed into the system and walked through the paperwork. He's thrilled by the way because there's a call he's been putting off to Russia all week that he's planning on having us take.” He sets the clock sign on the door to say that the office will be opening at nine-thirty and leads her through the back hall to the elevator. “How's your Russian?”

“Мой русский язык лучше чем ваш английский язык, сука.”

“Good to know.” The elevator door slides open and Jack is waiting with the airlock already open, hands in his pockets and folders under his arm as he rocks on the balls of his feet and grins.

“You're early.”

“Still learning traffic in the area. So, I heard I'm taking a phone call for you from Russia today?” In her aerie Myfanwy is chortling and calling as they make their way into the conference room and the spread of papers and equipment spread out across the table.

“Zilant at one-thirty and oh, will it be boring so let's get you all official before then so I can hand Sergi and Alexi over to you and Ianto and do something that doesn't feel like pulling teeth.”

***

They manage to make it all the way through the paperwork and as far as the kitchen in the tour before a rift alert goes off.

“Ah, and that would be the rift alarm going off which means something's coming through...right now.” Jack jogs ahead of them, already clomping up the stairs at a run, and Chy is keeping up with Ianto's brisk pace despite her thin heels and the grated floors as they follow behind. “All right, Gwen, Ianto, with me. Tosh! Stay back and show Cheyenne the systems while we're gone and make sure her pass codes to the archives and weapons lockers are registered in. Owen, take her down to the shooting range and get her signed off for a weapon and if we're not back by one, take the call with Zilant.”

“Russia can piss off. Be back by one or the call's not getting done!” Ianto sighs as Jack and Owen begin bickering as they gear up, taking Cheyenne by the elbow and steering her towards the stairs.

“It looks like a trash run again, but if we're held up that call has to be taken. If you haven't heard from us by one, the file is on Jack's desk in the upper right hand corner, the one with the red tag. When you have time, familiarize yourself with it. Don't worry, it's just Zilant calling to check in on what they think is a smaller rift forming over there. Any questions they might have will be in there, and Owen will actually come take the bloody call despite his bitching so...”

“Not my first ride at the rodeo sugah. Besides, xenolinguistics is a _teeny_ tiny field and I met most of the others years ago. I'll be speaking with Alexi Golovastov and we may run up Jack's long distance bill talking about the granddaughter that had just been born last time we spoke. I've got this.”

“Ianto, let's go!” Jack is already halfway to the lift, but Ianto is closer and beats him there, making room for Gwen and Jack to squeeze on with him. “Take the call Owen! Doctor Morgan, glad you could join us. Welcome to Torchwood.”

Under his feet the lift shudders, the safety walls shimmering on around them and Ianto looks away from where Cheyenne is leaning over Tosh's shoulder and watching her work the energy readings, reaching back to rest his hand on the butt of his gun.

They've got work to do.

*****  
 _fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Restless Dream is finished and by my self-imposed goal of my Birthday! Approximately 70k words in 4ish months, which I could not have done without my super AMAZING beta czarina_kitty and all you fantastic people reading and commenting. My original plan was to move directly from this to a short fluff piece involving Ianto introducing his family to Cheyenne and Indy and then then start 'Catch and Release', which will be covering 'Meat' in this 'verse. Instead, I find myself moving, so C&R's start date will be pushed back about a month or so due to that, but for now enjoy the end of Restless Dream and I'll be back in a week or so with the short piece.


End file.
